Saving Grace
by Jaenelle Angelline
Summary: Kurt helps a disenchanted runaway from a twisted cult believe in God again. FINISHED. Dedicated to Karael Rofalis, who asked for a Kurt story! Read, review please! Thanks!
1. Default Chapter

Chapter 1: Kurt

                "…For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, now and forever. Amen."

                Kurt Wagner rose from his knees after crossing himself and sighed, slightly irritated as he heard Rogue yelling down the hall. The brief moment of quiet he had taken advantage of to say his morning prayers was gone, lost in the noise and bustle of a mansion full of people getting up and going about their business.

                He opened the door to his room and started to walk out, only to withdraw quickly as Bobby, in full ice form, came pelting down the hallway. He sighed, started to walk out again, and then withdrew just as quickly as Rogue came pounding down the hall after Bobby. "Ah swear, Popsicle, Ah'll kill ya for this!" Rogue screamed furiously. Kurt withdrew hastily, again, as she passed him almost close enough to touch him, and waited a full two seconds before he opened the door and attempted to exit his room again. This time, he was foiled by the appearance of Remy, running past him after Rogue and Bobby. Remy gave him a brief nod and continued on, presumably to keep Rogue from killing the mansion's resident trickster.

                Kurt started to slam the door in irritation and annoyance, then composed himself enough to give the door a gentle shove to close it with a click. Forget about using the stairs today; with those three tearing around, you could also forget about finding any peace and quiet either. He donned his coat (it was the first of November, after all) and grabbed his diary. Tucking a pen between its pages, he tucked it inside his coat and teleported himself out of he mansion.

                He usually could find some peace and quiet on the rock by the lake, but when he got there, he found the rock occupied by Logan, slumped up against it with his cowboy hat pulled down over his face, catching some sleep. Beside him, like a brightly-colored butterfly temporarily at rest, was Jubilee, reading. "Lookin' for some peace, elf? Yer welcome ta join us." Logan's voice sounded gruff, but the smile he gave Kurt was unreservedly warm.

                Kurt thought about it, then felt the hardness of the diary under his coat, and shook his head. Writing in his diary was an intensely private thing for him, and he didn't want anyone to witness it. Besides, Jubilee was a girl. She might restrain her curiosity now, but sooner or later she would ask, and he was not going to lie. Better to not get into that position to begin with. "No, thank you," he told them politely. "I am taking a walk."

                The sound of crashing furniture wafted down to them on the still, cold air from the mansion, and Logan grinned as he pulled the hat down over his face again. "Sounds like Rogue caught Bobby," he grinned. "Probably better ta go take a walk. Scott's gonna be yellin' at 'em in a minute." Kurt nodded and resumed walking, heading for the next spot on the mansion's grounds, but he wasn't quite out of earshot before he heard a voice, unmistakably Scott's, begin an indistinct shouting at the two combatants. He was too far away to distinguish individual words, but the intent, and the tone, was clear.

                He shook his head and kept walking.

                The next place he hit was the little clearing in the middle of the small wooded copse on the edge of Xavier's property. Usually he could find some quiet there. However, that was not today. Betsy was performing her _kata_ in the center of that clearing, her movements slow, controlled, and so fluid she looked like she was gliding through the moves. He steered around that clearing; she was a telepath, she would know he was there, but since she was out here in what Warren had once jokingly told her was the 'middle of nowhere' she was obviously looking for some privacy just as he was. He would not be the one to disturb her.

                He teleported away from the clearing in a random direction, and with some surprise he found himself close to the sharp bend in what was called at the mansion Devil's Road.  The road was a lonely, winding stretch of never-used winding road about a half-mile from the mansion. The only reason the X-Men used it was to practice their driving skills. Ororo and Scott, especially, since they were the ones who normally piloted the Blackbird. The rest of the time Logan, Bobby, Warren, and Remy drove down the road in varying stages of inebriation to see whose balls were bigger. It annoyed Kurt to no end. Life was too precious, too fragile, to risk it doing something stupid.

                He strolled down the road a short way. Really, it was pleasant. The morning fall light filtered gently down through the yellow maple and red horse chestnut tree leaves, dappling him in colored patterns that were quite restful and peaceful. He finally spotted a lump of weathered gray stone and sat down on it, taking out his diary. He opened it up to a fresh page, took up the pen, and started writing.

                _Rogue and Bobby were going at it again this morning, _he wrote. _Scott is back there trying to straighten out the mess. I am not sure I want to know what Bobby did; with last night having been Halloween, I can only guess what he must have done to her to get her that angry._

_                Maybe it's just me. I find it hard to get involved in Halloween. Dressing up in costumes and begging for sweets seems a terrible oversimplification of a night in which spirits were said to roam at will to torment the mortals living on this plane of existence. I usually use today, the Feast of All Saints, in which to celebrate the triumph of light over darkness, of God over the Devil. And here I am, on a road the others call 'Devil's Road', writing in my diary._

_                Perhaps its because my faith has been so shaken lately that I am having a harder time than usual getting into the spirit of the holiday. Normally, though I dislike the holiday, I can join in the party the others throw (last night it was the guys' turn for table dancing; Scott, especially, once he got some of the punch Bobby secretly spiked into him, was quite enthusiastic in removing most of his clothing, to Jean's utter delight). Probably the reason why he was so quick to begin chiding Bobby this morning; he has to have a headache the size of Texas._

_                But not last night. Last night I retreated to my room and spent the night in quiet solitude. It is not a bad thing…but Jubilee did knock on my door later, drop a candy bar in my lap, and tell me to 'lighten up'. Whatever that means. Dear God, please send me some sign that my time on this Earth is not wasted, that there is a purpose, a meaning to my life. As much as I try to believe that Charles' Dream is a good enough purpose, the thought that things would and have, progressed perfectly well without me is a sobering thought. I wish there is something that only I can do, something I could do that no one else could. Do, to make me feel like I have meaning, worth, a purpose…_

                Kurt jumped a foot in the air, spinning on his rocky seat as he heard a soft voice float to him through the cool, still morning air. It was female, he identified after  moment, and it was annoyed.

                "I hate this," the voice was muttering. "How could those kids just…come here and…do this to your tombstone? I'm sorry, Mabel, I'll try to get the paint off. I don't know what will get this stuff off…oh, maybe I'll get a handful of sand from the stream and try to scrub the paint off."

                Kurt's curiosity got the better of him, and he turned. As silently as possible, he pushed through the foliage beside the road, stepped over the remains of a rotted wooden fence, and suddenly found himself in a grassy meadow. The grass was short but ragged, but there was enough of it to see the footprints in the frost-coated grass leading off to his right. He followed the footprints, and as he turned around a tall clump of brambles, he saw a slender figure on her knees beside a tombstone, rubbing at a bright, garish yellow streak sprayed across the weathered gray face of a tombstone.

                He stood for a moment just looking at her. She was about five foot two or three, he guessed, though her stooped position made it difficult to guess. She had short brown hair sitting in tumbled curls around her head, and her clothes were some sort of shapeless brown dress that left her arms bare. Those arms were pebbled with goose bumps, and he wondered where her coat was. Did she even have one? There was something about her that made him think perhaps she didn't.

                Then she pushed off the grass with a soft sigh, and turned, and he saw her fully. She also saw him. For long moments they stood there and stared at each other.

                She was young, he guessed. Probably in her late teens. She was about five foot five, he saw now that she was standing up. Her feet were bare inside their covering of some rough brown material that wasn't leather; it was tied around her feet with some rough, stained twine. The 'dress' was made of the same material, tied around her waist with the same twine. Her features were regular, unremarkable; except for her eyes. She had eyes like his, yellow irises, but with red pupils like Remy's. What shocked him was the scar tissue around them. Her eyelids were seamed with fine white scar lines. They didn't obstruct those yellow orbs, though. They flashed now as she looked him over, emitting a glowing yellow flame before her shoulders squared and the glow died.  It was so unexpected that Kurt just stood there staring as she said softly but firmly, "Get out."

                "What?" He wasn't used to being ordered like this.

                "I said, get out. This is a cemetery, it's holy ground, you can't intrude here. Get out."

                "You have it wrong." Kurt felt a little of the hopelessness he always felt when someone mistook him for the devil. "I'm not a demon, I'm a mutant. I won't hurt anything, and I won't hurt you."

                There was silence for a moment as the girl took that in. Then she looked at him again, with that peculiar flash of her eyes, and she said, only marginally friendlier, "All right. So you're not a demon from hell. But I still don't want you here. Get out."

                Kurt almost turned, but a little voice inside him said _wait._ He gestured to the ruins around him, spreading his arms wide, and said quietly, "Where are we?"

                The wariness in her eyes didn't change. "This is Angel Hill Cemetary."

                Well, she didn't try to attack him. Maybe that was a good sign. "Who are you?"

                Her shoulders stiffened even more, and her hands clenched at her sides. "Why do you want to know? Did _THEY_ send you here to look for me?" He could almost hear the capitals in her words, and he could see the fear in her eyes even if she didn't let it show in her voice.

                "Who are 'They'?" he asked her.

                Puzzlement crossed her face. "You don't know?"

                He spread his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Enlighten me." When she hesitated, he said, "Please."

                "They're the Chosen Of God. I ran away from them." She didn't elaborate further.

                Well, that was informative. Kurt bit his lip, thought for a minute, and changed tacks. "I'm Kurt Wagner. Kurt to my friends." He held out a hand.

                She didn't take it. "Why are you being so nice?"

                Kurt thought for a moment, trying to think of an answer. In the end, he opted for the truth. "I was out here looking for a little peace and quiet. The house I live in is a little…crowded."

                "So go find your peace and quiet. Leave me be." She wrapped her arms around her shoulders, shivering slightly, even thought the air was warming a little with the rising sun. Kurt, moved by sudden pity, swung his coat off his shoulders and stepped forward to drape it over hers.

                She stepped away, and the wariness was in her eyes again. "No."

                "You're cold."

                "I don't want your pity! I want you to go."

                Kurt grinned at her, but it was a soft smile. "Not until I get your name."

                She stared at him for a moment, and she seemed about to say something when the sound of voices came to their ears. Kurt heard a harsh laugh, and then a voice said, "This way. The old tombstone's here, the one we sprayed yellow paint all over last night. I wanna see what it looks like up close."

                The girl was instantly on the alert. She looked around her frantically, but the tombstone was surrounded by thorny brambles, and there was no other way out but by the narrow path through the weeds. She turned and stepped into the thorny bushes, and Kurt winced as the thorns tore scratches into her bare skin. She crouched there, trying to hide, and not being successful. Her fear transmitted through her body language to Kurt, and he teleported himself a slight distance away. He was out of sight, but not out of earshot.

                The owner of the voice walked right by the clump of high grass Kurt was hiding in, followed by two other young men. They looked like the stereotypical young brainless college boys that normally chose places like graveyards to desecrate, and Kurt frowned.

                "Hey, here it is," came that voice again. "Look. Hey, ain't we glad we used that yellow paint? It's decorated the tombstone all nice now. Betcha the old woman who's buried here gone and turned over in her grave!" Raucous laughter followed that remark. There was the sound of grass swishing, and suddenly the guy yelped. "What the…hey, looky what we got here, boys, a little runaway tryin' to erase what we done last night!" Kurt heard the girl cry out as she was dragged from the thorn bush. "Whatcha doin' here, girlie?"

                "You're desecrating a cemetery," Kurt heard the girl say. "Get out."

                The boys ignored her words. Obviously they'd just seen her eyes. "Whoa, man, look at them eyes!" a different voice whistled. "Man, no wonder she's gone and run away. Whassa matter with them, huh girlie? Yer Pop and Mom didn't like them eyes and try ta cut 'em out, or something?"

                "Get out! Go away!" Kurt heard desperation in her voice now.

                "Hey, lookit this smelly rag she's wearin'," said the first voice. "Lessee what's under it, huh?" There was the sound of tearing cloth, and a despairing scream.

                Kurt couldn't listen to it anymore. He teleported himself back to the tombstone, perched atop it like a demon from hell. The smell of sulfur helped.

                The three boys froze. The girl was crouched at their feet, the shapeless garment she wore torn at the shoulder. She was clinging to the shreds, trying to cover the bare skin that shivered from the still-chilly air. Kurt saw it, and it made him angry. He leaned forward, right in the first boy's face, opened his golden eyes wide, and hissed.

                The boy stumbled backward, yelling in fright, and backed right into his fellows. "Let's get outta here!" he cried. "That's a demon, or somethin'!" The three boys took off running.

                Kurt sprang lightly down from the top of the tombstone and knelt next to the girl. "Are you all right?" He reached down to pull the tattered material up to cover her shoulder, and she flinched away from his touch. He backed off. "I'm sorry, _fraulein_," he said, holding his hands up. "I realize you don't want to be touched by a--" he didn't finish. The word hung in the air, unspoken.

                The girl held the tattered material closed over her shoulder as she stood, watching him warily. "Grace," she said finally.

                "What?" Kurt looked at her sharply.

                "Grace. My name is Grace," she said.

                A smile curved Kurt's lips. "Pleased to meet you," he said gently. "Did they hurt you?" He made a move, as if to step in, but she stepped back again, avoiding his touch. "I'll be fine," she said. "Please go."

                At least he'd gotten her name. That was something. He held up his hands. "I'm going," he said quietly. He picked up his jacket, turned, and walked away into the surrounding shrubbery.


	2. Grace

Chapter 2: Grace

                He didn't go far. As soon as he was confident she couldn't hear him, he stepped into the tall (and thankfully thorn-free) grass by the cleared path she had made through the graveyard and waited. After a few moments, the grass rustled as she got up. Her slow footsteps plodded slowly down the cleared space, and turned a corner before she was out of sight. Using all the skill at sneaking he'd learned from years with the X-Men, he followed her.

                The path through the tall grass opened out finally to a small cleared space. A small, clear stream ran beside a battered, old, rusted, corrugated metal shed that looked, at one time of another, to have held gardening tools.  She ducked into the dark shed and came out moments later with a ball of the twine. Sitting down in the grass by the stream, she unwound the end of the twine, stretched it out across a flat rock, and patiently pounded it with another rock for a long time before it gave. She tied the other end of the twine around a long thorn, then took the torn edge of the dress and poked the makeshift needle through it. Painstakingly she tried to sew the edges of the rotted, rough material together.

                Kurt bit his lip, appalled. Was this all she had? No decent clothes, no shoes, no coat to ward off the November chill, nothing. He moved around quietly behind her, then teleported himself into the metal shed.

                The earthen floor was bare, that much he could see from the light that filtered in through the chinks in the walls. There was a bed of dried grass in one corner, with a slightly larger pile at one end for a pillow; and a tattered plastic bag was pulled over it as a cover. Nails had been driven in around the walls, and bunches of weeds and different kinds of roots hung from them. He guessed that this was what she ate. No wonder she looked so skinny.

                In fact, as he looked around the tiny shed, it looked like she lived in here. Why had she run away from these people, the 'Chosen Of God'? He tried to put all the pieces together, but there were gaps in his knowledge, and the picture was incomplete. He wondered what it would look like when it was complete.

                The door to the shed opened. He didn't have time to teleport himself out before she looked in and saw him and he blinked shamefacedly as the bright sunlight came in. She paused in the doorway, staring at him, then snapped, "Get out! Get out! What right do you have to invade here!?"

                He stepped out. "Please, _fraulein_, I just wanted…I was curious…_fraulein_, why do you live like this? Is there nowhere else you could go? What happened? I do not want to be rude, but this…this is no way for you to live!"

                "Why do you care!?" She screamed at him, tears flowing down her cheeks. "God doesn't even care! _They_ turned against me because of how God made me, because of what He made me look like, and I have nowhere to go. He has deserted me because I don't believe in Him anymore!"

                "No, no, God would never desert you, He would never desert anyone, He loves you," Kurt stared at her, distressed. Why would she think that? 

                She turned away from him, tears streaking her face, and went to sit on the flat rock she had been using earlier. Kurt followed her, sitting beside her, and tentatively reached out to touch her as she cried into her hands. She didn't resist the touch this time, although she did stiffen. "Please, _liebchen_," he said gently. "Tell me what is wrong."

                "My parents belong to this cult called the Chosen of God," she whispered slowly. "They teach genetic purity. Everything was okay, I was happy. I reached puberty when I was sixteen, later than everyone else, and when I did I started hearing the voices. Father Borden took me into the testing room, and after a week he came out and told my parents that I had invited the Devil into my body and I was possessed. He told them that for my soul's sake he had to try and cleanse my spirit and my body. 

                "I don't know how long he tried. He did everything he could, he hurt me terribly. I begged him to stop, I told him I hadn't seen the Devil, that I hadn't invited Satan in, and it was useless, but he told my parents that was the Devil speaking and he had to drive the Devil out. Finally he attempted an exorcism done in the way he told us God told him to do it. I think I went mad with the pain for a time; he told them the only way to get rid of the Devil in me was to purify my flesh. They put me in The Pit and did terrible things to me until I finally told them I wasn't hearing the voices any more and to let me out. Father Borden took me out of the Pit and they saw my eyes were back to normal.

                "Father Borden said the Devil had left me and that now that my soul was clean they just had to get God to accept me back. And in order for me to be cleansed of my sins I had to be crucified. So they did a crucifixion like the one in the Bible; they whipped me and hung me until I was as close to dead as they thought I could get, then he said I was cleansed and they took me down, let me heal, and I went back to my former life.

                "Then on my eighteenth birthday my eyes changed color again, and this time nothing they could do changed them back. Father Borden told them my body was pure…I wasn't even having woman's monthlies anymore…and the only thing he could think of was that my eyes must be tainted by the devil. He whipped my face. It hurt so bad I passed out. When I woke up, I was outside the commune on the pile of trash. I could barely see; I was in so much pain. I got up and stumbled away. I didn't know where I was, I just kept walking and walking until I finally found this stream. I bathed my eyes and face in it, and I figured I'd rest while I healed. But they came looking for me. I ran again, because I didn't know if my eyes were still yellow, and I didn't want to go back anyway. They were God's Chosen; I was the devil's chosen. I didn't belong there. I hated God for making me with yellow eyes. It wasn't fair, that I should get punished for what He made my body look like. So I ran. I finally found this place, this cemetery, and I stayed, because it's quiet, and no one comes here. It's old; the only tombstones I can read come from the early 1960's; whatever was on the older tombstones has worn off with time. Here, the only voices I hear are Mabel's and a few of the others."

                "You…" Kurt blinked. "You hear the voices of the people buried here?"

                She didn't look at him. "Only a few. A lot of the others are completely gone. The only reason I hear Mabel's is because there's still a bit of her skull left under her tombstone. And Lester's, because a part of him is still left. But Mary's voice is almost gone now, and so is Hester's. And John's."

                Kurt blinked. His mind tried to wrap around the concept of how a living girl could hear dead voices, and couldn't come up with any explanation. "How?" he finally asked, careful to keep all emotion out of his voice. If she thought he was being judgmental she might stop talking altogether. "How can you hear them?"

                "I don't know," she shook her head. "It was bad at the commune, because everybody who died there was buried in the backyard. It's not as bad around living people; I can't hear you at all, except physically. But I'm afraid if someone finds me here they'll give me back to the commune and my parents, and _they'll_ kill me for sure because of how I look. And I don't want to die. I'd rather live here like this than go back." There was a fierce determination in her tone. "You won't tell anybody I'm here, will you? If _they_ find I'm here they'll come and get me and kill me."

                "No. I wouldn't do that," Kurt said quietly. "They will not find out you are here from me." 

                The heat of the sun on his back reminded him that time was passing, and someone might be looking for him soon. "I have to go," he said. "My friends… the people I live with…will miss me if I'm gone too long. But…may I come and see you again?"

                She nodded. "Yes," she said softly. "I…would be pleased. It's been a long time since I had someone to talk to."

                Kurt got up…and stopped. "It was not fair," he said softly to the figure still sitting on the ground. "God made you the way you are for a reason. God had a reason for the way He made me look the way I do; it took me a long time to realize that my mutation was a gift, not a curse; but I did come to realize that, and I came to realize that He loves me no matter what I look like. He holds me in the palm of His hand just as he holds you. Maybe someday you'll realize that." He gave her a last look, then walked away.

*                                                              *                                                              *

                He walked into the back door amidst the bustle and preparations for lunch. Ororo handed him a plate of sandwiches to take into the dining room as he passed, and he simply stood in the doorway for a minute, staring from the plate to the table full of food and back again. Half of the food on that table wouldn't be eaten that day; he saw the pot of soup sitting full and steaming, and knew that half of that would be eaten, and the rest dumped out after it had sat in the refrigerator for a couple of days. He was suddenly struck by the wastefulness of it. They had so much…in his mind's eye he saw the bare walls of that tiny shack, the weeds and roots Grace was eating because she couldn't buy regular food…and pity twisted his heartstrings. When he said grace at the table that afternoon, his prayer had a special fervency in it. Xavier sensed it, and looked at Kurt quickly before returning his eyes to his plate, but when the meal finished and Kurt got up, Xavier accosted him on his way into the kitchen. "Kurt," he said.

                Kurt followed the hoverchair, and its occupant, into the small informal breakfast room. "Yes, Charles?" he said.

                "You…seem to have had an interesting morning," he said carefully.

                Kurt had to smile. Interesting? "_Ja_," he said, nodding.

                "Might I ask the details?"

                Kurt considered. He had promised Grace he would tell no one who or where she was, but this was Charles asking…He decided on an edited version of the truth. "I met a girl this morning," he said. "She is hiding from mutant haters, and is currently homeless." And he might as well ask Xavier what he wanted to ask him, although he knew already what Charles would say. "I was wondering if I might take some of the leftovers to her."

                "Of course. Is there anything else you can tell me?" Xavier could feel Kurt's hesitation. He didn't want to pry, but a girl who could capture Kurt's attention… "Her name?"

                "I am sorry," Kurt's tone got very formal, "but she made me promise not to tell anyone. Her life would be in danger should the people who are looking for her find her."

                "I understand." Xavier sighed. Kurt took his promises very seriously. "Well, I will not ask then. But Kurt…if there is anything I can do, please don't hesitate to let me know."

                "She has no clothes," Kurt blurted before he could stop himself. "She wears a dress made of a cloth sack. We have a lot of outgrown things in the attics…Charles…"

                Xavier smiled. "Anything we have in storage can be donated," he said. "I had actually thought of asking Jean and Ororo to pack a few things to take to the shelters. By all means, if there is anything your friend can use, take it with you."

                Kurt went upstairs and started rummaging through the stored things. He was tugging out a box marked 'old clothes' when the door to the room opened, and Ororo and Jean came in. He groaned silently.

                Ororo saw his look. "We will not ask," she said, going to the stacks of boxes against the wall and taking another one down. "Charles informed us that you knew someone who needed these things, and that she asked to remain anonymous. We are simply here to help you select things to take."

                Kurt was glad for their help, and their respect for his privacy. "I cannot take much," he said. "Where she is living, she doesn't have space for a lot of things. I was thinking maybe a couple changes of clothes and some food would be all she had space for."

                "Does she have anything to sleep on?" At Kurt's negative shake, Jean pulled a crumpled camp mattress from the box she was holding. "Perhaps she could use this then. The batteries are still in it, fortunately, or she'd have to plug it in." Kurt shook his head again. Jean looked at him. "She doesn't have electricity?" she looked at the things in her hands, at the carpet under her feet, out the window at the sprawling property, and murmured, 'I never realized how much we have, and how lucky we are."

                They set to work with a will.


	3. Grace's Story

Chapter 3: Grace's Story

                Ororo met him on the stairs with a box of stuff she had packed, and he slipped a couple of items into it as he took it. "Feminine needs," she told him when he gave her an enquiring look, and didn't say more. He risked a quick peek in and saw women's underthings and also some hygiene products for 'that time of month'. He blushed and quickly put the box beside the other one by the back door.

                Now he had another problem. How was he supposed to take this out to her?

                Remy came in the back door at just that moment and raised an eyebrow. "You not goin' be able to teleport all dat to wherever you goin, are you?" he said. Kurt shook his head. 

                Remy tossed him the bunch of keys in his hand. "Here. Put it all in de back of my truck. Should be enough room for you to fit all dat in dere."

                With Jean's telekinetic help, Kurt got all of the things into the back of the truck, and drove off. He took the left turn out of the driveway when he saw they were still watching, then made a u-turn. When he passed the gates again, they had gone inside. Satisfied, he went on driving.

                He parked the truck by the side of the road just before the sharp bend. Now that he knew what lay beyond that thick hedge of trees, he could understand why that bend was there. The road had originally gone straight into the cemetery here, but weeds and tall grass had grown up and occluded all signs of the existing road. He got out of the truck, taking the box of foodstuffs with him, and went slogging through the tall grass. Better not to teleport directly into the little clearing in front of the shed and scare her.

                He soon reached the shorter grass of the path she'd cleared, and from there the going was easier. He rounded the last bend in the path and saw her sitting there on the grass beside he stream. He was about to call her name to let her know he was there, but the words died on his lips.

                She was sitting there, with her back to him, and he rather absently noted that she had washed the grubby sackcloth 'dress' she wore and spread it out on the grass to dry. His attention, however, had been caught by the sight of the roadmap of scar tissue that covered her back, from the nape of her neck to her shoulders, back, and down past her waistline to the curve of her backside where it pressed against the grass.  And she was so thin! The skin was stretched so tightly over her bones that every bone stood out on her back in sharp relief, and that just accentuated the scars.

                She sensed someone there, and she turned, saw him, and screamed in shock, her hands coming up to cover herself as she turned. Kurt sucked in a breath as he saw the scars extended over her entire front, too; from her collarbones to the front of her thighs. She screamed in fury at him as he stood there, struck dumb, and snatched up the still-wet dress to press it against her chest. 

                "Please…I didn't mean to startle you, I just… I came by to drop off some things," Kurt said, his blue cheeks turning a dusky indigo as he hastily turned to giver her some privacy. She ducked into her shed to pull the still-wet dress over her head, and when she stuck her head out again, Kurt was standing with his back to the door, with his hands covering his face. His obvious embarrassment calmed her a little, and she walked up to touch his arm. "It's okay, I'm dressed now," she said. 

                Kurt peeked over his shoulder. Yes, she was covered. He turned now, his face still a deep indigo, and held out the box to her without looking at her. "Here, this is for you. And I have some other things in the truck I parked by the road…" As soon as she took the box he teleported himself back to the road and picked up the second box.

                When he rematerialized in front of her she was standing exactly where he'd left her, looking somewhat startled. "What…how do you do that?" she said to him, round-eyed.

                He grinned. At least she hadn't snapped at him. And she wasn't screaming either. That was good. "I'm a teleporter," he said. "I can transport myself from place to place in the blink of an eye." He put the box of clothes on the ground and opened it. Inside were the three pairs of jeans, three sweaters, and two jackets Ororo and Jean had picked out for her. "Here. They should fit; they looked like they would, anyway."

                She gasped as she took the clothes out. There was longing in her eyes but reluctance in her voice as she said. "But these…they must belong to somebody. I can't take clothes that belong to someone else…"

                Kurt put his hand over hers to stop her words. "Look over there," he said, pointing off toward the east, when he could see Xavier's mansion. "See that big house over there? The one with the two wings?"

                Grace squinted at it. "Yes, I do," she said. "It's kind of a white dot from here; I can't see that good, but that's where you live?"

                Kurt nodded as he filed that bit of information away. Her vision wasn't as good as it should be; she needed glasses, apparently. "I live there with my friends," he said. "There are a lot of people, and we all have a lot of stuff. We actually have a lot of junk. I'd been planning to pack up some of the old clothes and things to take to the church in town; I do a lot of charity work for Father Jerome." He turned to her and said, "I have a couple more things to bring; wait here." And he was gone again. 

                It took two more trips, but he did get everything there. When he came back the last time he saw her just coming out of the shed, and she was wearing a pair of the jeans and one of the sweaters. It was big on her, due to her extreme thinness, but at least it would be warm.

                He vanished into the shed and opened out the air mattress, touching the switch that would inflate the thing. Grace watched it all looking surprised, and her eyes got even wider when she saw the caulk gun and tube in his hands. "Wow," she said as he started to fill in the cracks in the walls. 

                When he finished he came back outside and sat down beside her. "We had plenty of food left after lunch," he said. "I helped myself to some." He handed her the container of soup and the two sandwiches, and watched as she tore ravenously into the food. He stayed silent until she finished, then took the container and pushed the other box at her. "This has a lot of girl stuff in it. Ororo…my friend…packed it for you when I told her I didn't know what girls needed." At her alarmed look, he said to her. "I didn't tell her who you were. I just said a friend needed it. I guess she assumed you were one of the charity cases that I work on with Father Jerome."

                "Am I?" she said quietly, studying him intently.

                "Are you what?" Kurt looked at her.

                "A charity case."

                Kurt sat down beside hr and sighed. "No. You're a friend who needs some help. That is all. I would never be able to forgive myself, nor would God, if I let someone who needed my help go without offering it."

                "God doesn't care about me," Grace said. The bitterness in her voice startled him.

                "God loves everyone, including you,' Kurt said. "Why would you think that He doesn't?"

                "If He cared He wouldn't have made me like this," she said softly. " And He would have let me die when I wanted to."

                Kurt regarded her quietly. 'Is that where you got those scars?" he asked.

                Slowly, she nodded. "Father Borden ran the compound that the Chosen Of God lived in," she said. "When I hit puberty just after my sixteenth birthday my eyes changed color and turned yellow. Father Borden told the community that I had been possessed by the devil and he had to drive Satan out of me. He called everyone into the church and prayed, and God came to us in the flames of the Altar fire and told Father Borden I had to be cleansed. He told Father Borden that I had been chosen because my form was pleasing to the devil and that in order to cleanse me they had to make sure my body wasn't pleasing anymore. He told Father Borden to take a whip and hit me with it, all over, until I was so scarred the Devil wouldn't want me anymore. It hurt horribly. I begged, cried, pleaded with them to let me go, to leave me alone, that I hadn't seen the devil and I hadn't invited him into my body, but they didn't stop. They chanted the prayers for exorcisms while they whipped me. When they were done they asked me if I still heard the voices. I tried to lie and say I didn't, but my eyes were still yellow and they said I was lying. Father Borden said they had to drive the devil out of me, and they put me in the Pit."

                Tears were trickling down her scarred cheeks now, and she didn't notice that Kurt was frozen in shock. "The Pit was a hole dug in the ground in the middle of the compound. They tied my hands above my head and lowered me in it, and it was so narrow I had to stand, I couldn't sit, and there was no room to lower my arms." She wiped the tears away, but her eyes still stared at nothing. "They left me in there for a week. I wasn't given anything to eat, and I only got one cup of water a day. My feet and legs hurt so bad, and I begged them to let me out, that I wasn't responsible for how God made me, but they ignored me. Father Borden had me pulled out at the end of the week, and asked me if I still heard the voices, but I was almost insane with hunger and thirst, and I cursed God in front of them. He had me scourged again, and lowered back in."

                "At the end of another week he had me pulled out. And this time when he asked me, I told him no, I didn't hear the voices anymore, and he said I was cleansed because my eyes had gone back to being brown. The Elders took me out, gave me water and food, and then Father Borden told me that God had given me a penance to do and afterward I could be accepted back into the community. They crucified me the next day in front of the church. I stayed there a whole day until my strength gave out and I passed out.

                "While I was unconscious I saw a really bright light. I tried to head for it, I knew it was Heaven and I could find peace beyond that light, but a gate came down between me and it and I heard a voice say 'Not yet'. It was His voice, I knew it. And then I woke up, and I hurt so much, and I cried because He didn't let me die. But everything was all right after that, and they let me return to my life.

                "Then on my eighteenth birthday my eyes changed color again. The elders got together with Father Borden, but no one could figure out why because I had been cleansed. I wasn't even having my monthlies anymore; I hadn't had them since the crucifixion. They took that as a sign that I had been cleansed even of original sin, since Eve didn't have monthlies until she ate the apple. Finally they decided that my eyes changed because they had been tainted by Satan, and they tied me down and scourged my face. I remember screaming and crying, begging them to stop while they whipped my eyelids, but they didn't stop. I passed out. And again I saw that light, and again I was told 'not yet' and again I woke up. But they must have thought I was dead because they had dumped my body in the pile of trash outside the compound gate. I got up and just started running away. I didn't want to stay, I'd had enough. They tried to come after me, but I kept running, and eventually the stopped coming. I was afraid to stop in a place that had people, so I just kept going until I found this place. It's an old cemetery. No one comes here anymore except a couple of kids now and then who think it's fun desecrating graves."

                Kurt became aware that his mouth was hanging open, and quickly shut it. She hadn't noticed; she was staring at the ground.  He thought quickly. Some of those 'feminine toiletries' Ororo had packed wouldn't be needed…but why? Women were supposed to have 'monthlies', as she called it, until they were past childbearing age; so why had hers stopped? Had she been permanently damaged when they tortured her? The thought made him shudder.

                He reached into the box next to him and retrieved the two items he'd gone to his room for, and pressed a Bible and a rosary into her hand. "Here," he said. "Maybe if you read this, it'll show you what God is really like. God is Love, Grace; he would never tell anyone to hurt you like that. Whatever you saw in the church, it wasn't God. Maybe when you read this you'll realize that." He pressed her hands closed around the slim little volume and the rosary, and said, "Hang onto them. When you're ready I'll teach you how to pray with the rosary. But for now, it's getting dark, and colder. Go on inside. I'll see you tomorrow." He slipped off into the darkness.

                She looked after him for a long time, and at the book in her hand, then went inside the shed looking at the book and thinking.


	4. Discussions And Advice

Chapter 4: Discussions and Advice

                Kurt sat on the couch in the Rec Room staring at the TV but not really looking at it. He couldn't get Grace out of his mind. What was this cult, that they could do such terrible things to a vulnerable young girl? The very thought of what had happened to her made his hair stand on end. 

                "Hey," came a voice. Kurt didn't hear it. A hand waved in front of his face, and the voice said, "Earth ta elf."

                He blinked, startled out of his reverie by the hand, and looked up to see Logan's face looking down at him. "Hey. Yer not really watchin' this junk, are ya?" Kurt looked at the screen. Prime-time programming was over, and the screen was currently showing an infomercial for some sort of bizarre exercise machine that looked more like a torture device than something that was actually supposed to help one lose weight. He smiled crookedly and moved over on the couch as Logan plopped down. "Kinda up late, ain't ya?"

                Kurt looked at the clock on the wall. Two in the morning. Wow, he hadn't even noticed the time passing. "I had some things on my mind," he said absently, his thoughts already wandering back to Grace.

                Logan sat on the couch for a while, flipping through channels. He looked over at the elf, slightly surprised when a half hour passed and the elf not only didn't get up and go to bed, he didn't even complain about his channel surfing. Kurt didn't usually complain, not like Bobby, who whined, but after a half-hour of seeing pictures flip by he should have said something. Logan turned the channel to a documentary about a shop full of guys custom engineering a motorcycle, and watched that.

                Not even that got a rise out of the silent blue statue sitting on the end of the couch. Logan watched the program to the end, half his attention on the TV and the other half on Kurt, and switched the TV off when the program finished. For a while he sat watching Kurt sit, then he leaned forward and tapped Kurt's shoulder. "What's up, Kurt?"

                "Kurt jumped a foot in the air at Logan's touch. "Ah, nothing, _mein freund_."

                Logan snorted. "Try tellin' me another one, bub." His tone was rough but not unkind. "This got anythin' ta do with the fact that I saw ya loadin' my camp lantern in Gumbo's truck earlier?"

                "I'll get you another one if you need it." Kurt still sounded distant.

                Logan sighed. "I don't need it. If I'd'a need it it wouldn't'a been sittin' on the garage shelf all that time. Was kinda wonderin' where it was goin', though."

                "A friend of mine need it."

                "And this friend happens ta be a girl?" Kurt looked at Logan, startled, and Logan sat back and grinned. "Ah, got ya. So, tell me 'bout her."

                "Can't. I promised." 

                Logan frowned. "Hey, you know me, I can keep secrets."

                "Logan, I promised. She's hiding from a cult of mutant haters. If they find out where she is, they'll kill her."

                "That bad?" Logan sat back with a low whistle. "So don't tell me all about her. Just tell me what ya can." When Kurt didn't respond, Logan sighed. "Sometimes sharin' thoughts helps ya get stuff off'a yer mind." When Kurt said nothing further, he threw up his hands. "Have it yer way. See ya in the mornin'." He got up off the couch and started for the door.

                "Logan." He almost missed the sound, it was so quiet. 

                "Yep?" he turned.

                "What was it like being crucified?"

                Logan blinked. That particular memory was one he really didn't want to drag up, but Kurt's eyes were focused on him, really focused now, and he felt somehow that the answer was important. He turned and went back to the center of the Rec room and sat on the low coffee table, disregarding Jean and Ororo's constant imprecations to all of them to not sit on the tables. "Hurts like hell," he said finally. "The spikes goin' through my wrists hurt the most, though. The Reavers made sure they didn't hit any arteries or muscle groups or anythin' on the way in, but the feel o' the spikes against the bones made my fingers curl up. Couldn't get them to open again. The pain was the worst. It hurt, an' what made it worse was tryin' ta scream an' not even bein' able ta get 'nuff air inta my lungs ta do it. If I hadn't seen Jubes standin' there lookin' up at me, tryin' ta figure out how she was gonna get me offa that thing, I wouldn't'a been able ta get myself off it. I'd'a died right there."

                Kurt's eyes were suspiciously bright, and Logan looked at him quietly. "It was a long time ago, Kurt. The memory hurt, but it's done an' over with. I try ta forget it." When Kurt still didn't say anything, Logan's eyes narrowed. "What's this got ta do with yer girl?"

                "She was crucified. When she was sixteen."

                Logan sucked in a harsh breath between his teeth. "Dear God. An' she survived it?"

                "She had a near-death experience before they took her off."

                "'They'?"

                Kurt sighed. "The…priest…said God told him it was the only way for her to show she was sorry for allowing the devil to taint her."

                Logan clenched his fist. "That priest oughta be put up there himself."

                Kurt sighed. "Yes. I feel that way too, and I feel guilty for saying that. I saw her, Logan…she's scarred all over, she said that God told Father Bor—told the head priest—that a thorough whipping was the only way to drive the devil out of her. So they did. Her body looks like a roadmap, Logan. And her face is scarred where they whipped her." He looked down, fighting tears. "She has eyes like mine. Golden eyes. They said her eyes had been tainted by the devil, and they whipped her _eyes_ to drive the evil out of them. Logan, how can people do such things to another human in God's name?" He sighed. "And why does God allow it?"

                "I don't know," Logan said. "Ya better talk ta God on that one."

                Kurt looked thoughtful. "Talk to God," he repeated slowly. "Talk to God. I shall do so, _mein_ _freund_. Good night." And he got up off the couch and hurried out of the room. Logan was left sitting on the table, wondering if he'd been any help at all. And he was also thinking about the girl Kurt was obsessed with. "Poor kid," he said finally, standing up. He went to his room, stretched out on the bed, but found himself unable to sleep. He kept thinking about Kurt's girl.

                "Hey, Hank?"

                Hank almost lost count of the number of drops he was adding to his test tube from his pipette. "I shall be with you momentarily, Kurt," he said, holding up one blue finger. He counted off the last of the ten drops, capped the test tube, and placed it in the centrifuge before turning to meet his guest's eyes. "What can I do for you?" he said mildly, not showing any of the surprise he was feeling.

                Kurt hesitated…actually hesitated, and that ratcheted Hank's curiosity up even higher. "If this is a bad time, I can come back later--" he began.

                "Oh, not at all," Hank said, waving a hand. "I simply needed to concentrate on the solution I was concocting. It is done for now. What can I help you with?"

                "Umm…" Kurt hesitated again, and an indigo flush colored his cheekbones. "What kind of medical condition would cause a girl to miss her period? And I don't mean just a month or so, I mean over a period of years; three or four."

                Hank looked grave. "Sit down." As Kurt did, he marshaled his thoughts. "The only reasons for amenorrhea...that's what the medical term for this is…is some form of disease, which would require a significant amount of testing to determine; ongoing stress or what is now called 'post-traumatic stress disorder', a high level of anxiety, an ongoing, repeated dietary deficiency, or any form of rapid weight loss or gain. But all of those cases would be almost immediately corrected, in this day and age, and a disease would be diagnosed by the female's health-care provider."

                "Well…she doesn't have one," Kurt admitted. "What causes post-traumatic stress disorder?"

                Hank thought. "Any kind of occurrence in which the individual would be threatened physically or mentally. War veterans most notably have the disorder; and it was prevalent in concentration camp survivors who had been starved and in such fear for their lives over an extended period of time. Many of the women in those concentration camps did not become pregnant by their captors' violations because at that point they had become too terrified and stressed for the body to continue its normal processes. The female body is much more delicately balanced than ours, Kurt."

                Kurt sighed. "She was crucified when she was sixteen by a…priest…in her…community. Would that cause enough stress for her to stop?"

                Hank became concerned. "It would indeed, but after the event, from six months to a year after, her body would resume normal biological functions. Were there any other complications after she recovered from her ordeal?"

                Kurt stared off into space for a moment. "She didn't tell me a lot about the next two years," he said. "But when she was eighteen her mutation manifested again, and the elders of her church decided that the devil had possessed her. They whipped her face to try and destroy her eyes. She almost died. When she woke up she ran away from them. She's been living homeless for a while."

                "What does she eat?" 

                Kurt got a faraway look in his eyes. "Roots, berries, grasses, whatever she can find that's edible, I guess." He turned to look at Hank. "I got together some canned foods and gave those to her. Canned stews and stuff. Was that right?"

                Hank nodded. "She needs more red meat. Tell me, did she seem tired, weak? Thin?"

                "She's so skinny I can see every rib in her back," Kurt said softly. "Her skin's really pale, even under all that scarring."

                "Vitamin deficiency, anemia, lack of adequate nutrition, high levels of stress, that is why she is not cycling," Hank said. "Kurt, whoever she is, she needs medical attention. If she's as thin as you say, she could be close to collapsing. Is there no way you can bring her here? I'm sure Charles won't mind."

                "'Charles won't mind' what?" came a voice, and Xavier himself came through the door into the medlabs. Kurt flushed, embarrassed, but Hank looked at Xavier, at Kurt, and then said, "I told Kurt I was sure you would not mind if he brought his friend here for me to look at and ascertain her current health."

                "Of course I wouldn't mind," Xavier said, turning to Kurt. "Is her health bad? How long has she been homeless?" At Kurt's hesitation, Xavier said quietly, "Kurt, I appreciate your attempt to keep your promise to her, but some promises need to be broken in order to save someone's life. If she needs help, would you ever forgive yourself if she died because you kept a promise?"

                "No," Kurt said. "God would not forgive me. I would not be able to forgive me either." As if that had made his decision for him, the decision he'd been wrestling with all last night and all that morning, he burst into a torrent of words. "Her name is Grace. I don't know her last name. She was born into this cult who believes that mutant genes are not a physical aberration, but a result of the mutant having given his or her soul to the devil. She…I don't know how this is possible, but she says she can hear the voices of those who have passed on. Her eyes are yellow, the same color as mine. The elders of the cult decided that she had been possessed by the devil and they attempted to drive him out of Grace's body. They did terrible things to her." He proceeded to tell Xavier and Hank everything Grace had told him the day before.

                Xavier and Hank both looked horrified when he was done. "Did she mention receiving any medical attention throughout or after her ordeal?" When Kurt replied negatively, Hank said, 'Then I can't rule anything out. She could have sustained internal damage that never healed correctly. In order for me to figure what exactly is causing this interruption in her natural bodily functions, I need to examine her."

                Kurt slid off his stool. "I'll bring her here," he said. "Whatever I have to do, even if I have to kidnap her, I'll bring her here."

                "Wait until the storm lets up a little," Charles told him before he went running out of the medlabs. "In case you haven't noticed, Kurt, it has been snowing quite heavily outside since early yesterday evening. Also, I believe Scott is looking for you. There was a Danger Room session planned for this afternoon, if you remember correctly."

                "Ach!" Kurt slapped his forehead with his hand. "I forgot! I had better go before he sends Logan after me!" And he took off. 

                Xavier turned to Hank as the big blue doctor got off his lab stool. "What medical condition was Kurt referring to?" he asked.

                Hank was about to quote doctor-patient confidentiality, but thought about who he was talking to, and decided to be candid. "His friend Grace is suffering from an extended cessation of her natural fertility cycles," he said. "He was asking me what could be causing it."

                "Any ideas?"

                Hank sighed. "I told him insufficient food and inadequate nutrition, but after hearing what has happened to the girl, I am not so sure. I need to examine her to determine the cause. It may be something as simple as a poor diet, or as complicated as internal damage that was not treated at the time the damage occurred. I do not know, Charles."

                "Let us see what she looks like when Kurt brings her here, then."


	5. Saving Grace

Chapter 5: Saving Grace

                The snow was falling even more heavily when Kurt glanced outside on his way to dinner with the rest of the mansion's inhabitants. From the second-floor window of his room he couldn't even see the driveway. Visibility had been reduced to just past the window.

                "What has the weatherman been saying?" He asked as he sat down to the table. Charles, disregarding his own rule about mealtimes being television-free, had switched on the one in the informal breakfast room. From where he sat in the dining room, he could just see the TV screen.

                "Gonna be bad," Logan predicted as he sat down with his own plate. "Looks like a Canadian black storm out there." The others shushed him as the weatherman came on.

                The snow was already piling up to five and six feet deep in places, and it was only going to get worse. There was no sign of the snow lessening or stopping anytime soon. Kurt looked at the meteorologist's map when the station broadcast it, and although he knew next to nothing about meteorology, even he could tell that all that red all over New England (from Maine to Maryland) couldn't be a good sign. The screen switched to show cars stopped in place in lines on the highways; snowplows even became stuck. And then there were the usual warnings; if your car gets stuck, don't leave it; make sure you have plenty of food and water; if you live in an old house, turn the hot water on a trickle so your pipes wouldn't freeze. Xavier asked Ororo and Jean something about the state of the pantry and the refrigerator. Both women assured him that they had gone out earlier to get what they needed, and in any case, when the storm let up they could go buy whatever they needed without having to wait for the road to be plowed. Kurt lost track of what else they were saying when the weatherman flashed current temperatures.  Fourteen degrees, and it was still dropping! Water froze at thirty-two degrees! Grace would freeze to death in that shed. He had to go get her.

                "I have to go get her," he said, staring at the TV screen. Everyone stopped talking and looked at him, and then at the TV screen. Most of them didn't know what he was talking about, but Hank and Charles looked alarmed when they saw the temperature displayed. "She has no heat?" Xavier asked him.

                "No, she's living in a gardeners' shed out by the deserted Angel Hill cemetery," Kurt's words tumbled out in a rush as he quickly swallowed the last of his tea. "She doesn't have anything for heat except the clothes I gave her and the camp lantern Logan left in the garage."

                Hank rose immediately from the table. "I shall go and prepare the medlabs for her incipient arrival," he said.

                Ororo stood too. "I shall clear the storm long enough to get here. From which direction will you be coming?"

                "I can teleport her from the shed directly here…" he started, then shook his head. He couldn't. If Ororo didn't clear the storm over the mansion, even for a little while, he could teleport into the graveyard and walk right past the shed. With visibility the way it was, he'd never see it. "I would be grateful for the help," he said to her.

                Jean stood up quickly too. "I'll grab some thermal blankets and meet you at the door with a biobed," she said, hurrying off. Kurt said a quiet prayer of thanks to God that he had friends who would drop everything they were doing to help him.

                He ran up to his room and bundled himself into a full set of thermal underwear, and then pulled over it sweatpants, a thick sweatshirt, a woolen sweater, and a coat, then met Ororo outside. She too had dressed warmly, although cold didn't affect her and Bobby the way tit did everyone else. He took a moment to orient himself, then pointed toward the graveyard. She rose into the sky, holding firm even though the winds tried to buffet her the way they were hitting the trees, and commanded the storm to clear. It did, and Kurt was struck all over again, by how magical it seemed. It wasn't the first time he'd seen her do it, nor would it be the last, but it still reminded him of Moses parting the Red Sea, and that in itself seemed heaven-sent.

                The wind howled in anger at being told to direct its force elsewhere, and the snow complained, but Ororo's will was stronger than they were, and she forced them to her will. "Go now," She finally called to Kurt, and he went. 

                Because the corridor of clear air was so narrow, he didn't make a straight teleport. Instead, he kept himself to short hops, popping out of the shadow dimension twice on his way to the graveyard to check his direction. By the time he reached the shed, he could see Ororo's struggle to hold the storm back. Grimly promising her silently that he wouldn't be long, he ducked into the shed.

                It was the same temperature inside as it was outside. Kurt swore and dropped to his knees in the small, cramped space beside the camp mattress. "Grace?" he touched the bump under the covers. "Grace, it's Kurt. It's getting colder. You cannot stay here. Come with me." When there was no answer, he pushed the wool blanket aside.

                She had put on every stitch of clothing he had given her, trying to stave off the cold. It hadn't worked well, though. Her lips were blue. Kurt shook her gently, trying to rouse her. When she didn't respond, he became alarmed, and rolled her over.

                Her cheek was smeared with blood.

                "Grace!" He shook her again, terrified. 

Her eyelids fluttered gently, opened for a moment. "Kurt?" she whispered. Her voice was weak and thready. "What…are you doing…here…" she was interrupted by a fit of coughing. Kurt gasped in shock as the hands covering her mouth came away streaked with blood. "I have to get you home," he said, sliding an arm across her back and trying to pull her up to a sitting position. She seemed too weak to sit up on her own.

He gave her an experimental lift. She weighed next to nothing; the weight came from the clothes she'd pulled on. She had tucked her legs and arms close to her body to warm them, but he could see her fingers were blue. Her toes were probably no better.

He shoved open the door to the shed after extinguishing the camp lantern. Pushing the door closed, he took a moment to find the mansion through the haze of snow, and started to teleport in slightly longer hops toward the mansion.

Ororo saw him coming, and gradually shrank the sphere of her influence as he made his way back. Finally, when he popped back into existence in front of the mansion's back door, she released the winds and snow altogether and opened the door for him to walk in.

Jean was waiting right in front of the door, accompanied by half the mansion. In the bright light, he could now see that the wool blanket was stained dark around her head by what looked like a great quantity of blood. He lowered Grace onto the biobed Jean was holding steady for him, and said, "Jean…she's bleeding when she coughs…that is not good…"

"No," Jean shook her head, carefully controlling the fear in her voice, "It's not. Here, Rogue, Ororo…somebody…grab this bloody blanket off her." She quickly replaced the blanket with the thermal one she held, and then set off for the elevator that would take her to the medlabs, as fast as she could go. Kurt took a moment to shed his coat and extra clothes, then ran off after her.

The elevator was full with Jean and the biobed, so Kurt did a last teleport (he was exhausted, but fear for Grace kept him going) to the medlab doors. He met Jean at the door, and helped her guide the bed into the room. Hank positioned the bed and locked it easily, then said, "Kurt, I want you to remain outside, please." He was about to protest, but the sight of both Hank and Jean pulling on surgical gowns and Jean grabbing a pair of scissors to cut the clothing off the prone figure convinced him that his presence wasn't needed. He left, closing the door, and joined the growing crowd of people standing in front of the observation window. 

"Kurt.." Logan said as Jean got the jeans off Grace and he saw the extreme thinness and the scarring of her legs and feet, "Is this yer girl?"

"Ja," Kurt said tensely.

Logan turned to stare at him as he said accusingly, "Why the hell didn't ya just bring her here when ya saw her first, damn it? It ain't like Chuck'd turn her out; hell, we've all brought waifs here from time to time. Didn't ya see what kind o' physical condition she was in?"

Kurt sighed. "I saw, Logan, I saw," he said wearily. "She's on the run from mutant haters. She made me promise not to tell anyone where and who she was."

"And ya didn't trust us enough ta tell us?"

"Logan, Kurt did what he thought was best,' Xavier's soft voice cut through the thick silence in the hall. "He was sworn to secrecy, he kept that secret. At least he knew when secrecy should be damned." He stopped by the window, and the others made room for him so he could see in. His eyes got that blank look that meant he was reaching out telepathically.

Jean sensed him reaching, and she answered his mental inquiry without turning around. **She's in terrible condition. Kurt was right to bring her here; she wouldn't have lasted another hour out there.**

**What is wrong with her?**

Jean sighed telepathically. **What isn't wrong, you mean. Her body's a mess, Charles. Hank says nothing she endured was ever attended to, he wants you to tell Kurt that. She's got two broken ribs that never healed properly; one of the bone fragments finally worked its way out of her side and pierced her lung; that's why she's coughing blood. We're going to have to put her on a ventilator to re-inflate her lung, after we do surgery to remove the bone fragments. Hank says the ribs are irreparably shattered; he's just going to remove them. She's got a lot of internal scar tissue. Her organs are half the size their supposed to be, her stomach's shrunken, her blood pressure's too low, and Hank's putting an IV in her chest vein because the veins in her arms collapsed. She's also beyond starvation; she's emaciated, malnourished, hypothermic, and anemic. She's a mess, Charles. We'll do what we can; but Hank says he's not sure she's going to make it.**

**Hank isn't sure?** That was worrying. Hank was the best doctor they'd be able to find for her anywhere; if Hank wasn't sure she was going to make it, it was pretty much a guarantee that no one else would be able to do anything either, even if they managed to get her to a hospital. **Keep us apprised of her condition, Jean. I'll alert the others. **He broke contact, and met Kurt's worried eyes. "Hank's not sure she's going to make it," he said softly.

"Mein Gott," Kurt swore. He knew what that meant. His back hit the wall and he slid down it to a sitting position, burying his face in his hands. After a moment his shoulders started to shake.

Xvaier paused, uncertain. He'd never seen Kurt cry before; Kurt seemed to have a well of serenity in him, due probably to his deep faith and close relationship to God; but that wasn't helping him now. Xavier wondered how Kurt had gotten to care for this girl so much in such a short time; but questions could wait.

Ororo gently took Kurt's shoulders and drew him up, wrapping an arm around him as she took him into the conference room across the hall. She closed the door firmly, and Xavier sighed. Perhaps She could help Kurt. For right now, however… "Come. There is nothing else to be done here now, my X-Men; if you wish to return to the dining room, I'll fill you in. Kurt will not mind." They all turned and silently headed upstairs, leaving Kurt and Ororo behind.


	6. The Power Of A Prayer

Chapter 6: The Power of a Prayer

Ororo stood in the empty, quiet conference room and said nothing, just held Kurt as he sobbed. 

It touched her deeply. Kurt never cried. Well, neither did most of the other guys, but for some reason the break in Kurt's stoicism was harder to watch in him than it was in anyone else. Perhaps because he was normally so controlled.

"She will be all right," she told him finally. "Kurt, you must trust your God, just as I trust my Goddess. If it is Their will that she survive, she will. All that scarring on her body means she has been through ordeals we cannot even imagine. If whatever Power guides her way has kept her alive this long then surely that Power will continue to do so if she has not fulfilled her destiny. You must believe that, Kurt."

Kurt raised his head. "I know that, Ororo," he said, his voice broken. "It is just…she has come so close to death twice already. She told me so herself. 

"I wanted to bring her here yesterday when I met her, but she resisted, and I did not push her. I wanted to help her. And instead, look at what has happened; she is dying because of my stupid promise. I thought I was being so honorable, but I was condemning her to death!" And he buried his face in his hands again.

Ororo sighed. "Kurt, you cannot blame yourself," she said as reasonably as she could. "You had no way of knowing that this storm would blow up today; you could not have prevented it. If you had tried to force her to come with you yesterday she may have become frightened and run further away, and if she did that she would definitely be dead now. You did what you could, and you may have saved her life today by bringing her here." She placed her hands over his clenched indigo fists. "Let it go, Kurt. Trust in your God, as I trust in my Goddess. Come. I shall pray to the Goddess for her recovery, and you should do the same with your God. Perhaps They will hear our prayers, and she will live if They will it."

Kurt tried to pray, but all he could think about was the limp figure lying alone on that camp mattress, coughing blood…oh, so much blood…and wondering what was happening, feeling terror and loneliness as the snow closed in and the temperature dropped. She had been on the final slide into a coma and death, he was sure of it.

**Ororo?** The gentle mindvoice intruded on Ororo's meditations.

_Yes, Jean?_ Ororo answered quickly.

Jean's mindvoice was heavy with sorrow. **Please bring Kurt here. Grace is dying. There's nothing we can do. He should get a chance to say goodbye.**

Ororo looked up at Kurt, her face stricken, and Kurt knew what she had to say before she said it. With a harsh, strangled gasp he got up from the table and fled the conference room.

He exploded into the medlab at full speed and skidded to a stop. Hank had taken off his gloves and his blood-stained lab coat; Jean was coiling the wires on the defibrillator. Grace lay on the bed, her face pale. Her chest was still rising and falling, but Kurt's eyes traced the lines from the respirator to her mouth and realized the machine was keeping her breathing. The various pieces of machinery that were monitoring her heartbeat and brainwaves and other vitals were all emitting a low, flat monotone. As he watched, Jean turned off the respirator. Grace's thin, frail chest rose once more, fell, and didn't move again.

"_Nein, nein, mein Gott, nein_," Kurt cried out, bending over the bed. "Grace…" But Grace was gone. Hank quietly turned off the last monitor and pushed it aside, and Kurt bent over her still body, gripping one pale, limp hand, as he called her name frantically. She didn't answer. Kurt slumped to his knees, still gripping her hand in both of his, and began to pray. "Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name…"

He finished the prayer in English, then in Latin, and started it in German as tears flowed unchecked down his face. Jean and Hank stood there, watching but at a respectful distance, and Ororo joined them. Jean's shoulders bowed, and Ororo found herself hugging her friend as tears ran down her own face.

Kurt was just starting to pray the ancient words again in Latin when he felt a twitch, a slight flutter of a hand in his own. He paused, looked up, then flung himself wildly at the bed. "Grace! Grace, wake up, please wake up…"

Jean took his other arm. "Kurt, she's gone. Come on, please…"

"NO! She's alive!" He wrenched his arm out of Jean's grasp and clutched at her hand. 'Grace, Grace, it's Kurt, please open your eyes, open your eyes, _liebchen_…"

Hank took a step forward, to take Kurt's arm and draw him away from the body, but froze as he saw the eyelids flutter. "My stars and garters," he whispered, and was in action before the words had left his lips. Jean felt it, a heartbeat later; a faint psychic flicker that slowly grew brighter as Grace's eyes opened. She struggled to take a breath through the tubes that filled her mouth and nose, and started to choke on them when she couldn't get air into her lungs. Jean snapped out of her shocked paralysis, and quickly moved to reconnect the tubes and turn the respirator back on. Grace's panic eased somewhat as she got air into her lungs, and then she sighed and closed her eyes. For a second Kurt thought she'd died again, and let out an anguished sound of grief, but the reassuring beep of the monitors told him she was very much alive.

"I shall start praying myself," Hank said finally, hastily donning gloves. "Jean, if you would…" The redhead moved to the other side of the bed, and started handing things to him. 

Kurt and Ororo stood there for a moment, watching, then Ororo said, "Come. Let's go." She patted his shoulder as they walked out of the medlab. Kurt didn't stop, but headed up the stairs. "I need to go to the chapel," he said softly when Ororo looked at him questioningly. She nodded understandingly, and headed up to the dining room where everyone was waiting for news.

Xavier had just finished telling the rest of the X-Men about Grace, and what Kurt had said she had told him, when Ororo pushed open the door to the dining room. 'She is alive," she said, leaning against the door wearily. "Jean says she thinks Grace will be all right. Grace died for several minutes," and she choked, thinking about Kurt's grief at the news, "but for some reason the Powers that be decided to send her back. Hank is confident that the danger is past, and she will live."

The tense, worried looks on all their faces dissolved, and they started murmuring among themselves. Xavier watched them for a moment, then turned to Ororo. **Where is Kurt?**

_In the chapel,_ she said. _I imagine he wishes to say thanks to his God that she is alive. I shall also_ _say my thanks, but in my own way_. Her eyes flicked upward to the ceiling, and Charles understood. Ororo was going to her room.

He left the dining room and went to the small chapel he had set up at the end of the east wing, off the first floor hallway. It had originally been in the main body of the house, but he had had its crucifix and altar removed to a storage room when the space in the mansion began to be taken up with his students. When Jean had 'died' he had a room set aside as a chapel and had the altar and crucifix put back up. It had stayed up since then, and had become a haven of quiet for various members of the X-Men over the years; a quiet place to come, sit, think, and let the peaceful atmosphere of the room soothe a troubled mind. He'd even seen Logan come in here, once. Kurt was a regular visitor; he also held services here on Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, and religious holidays. Xavier tried to attend whenever he could.

He paused as the door to the chapel closed behind him. The room could be brightly lit with the flick of a switch, but when no one was here the only light on was the single floodlight highlighting the crucifix hanging over the altar.

Kurt had chosen not to turn on the lights. Instead, he'd lit candles. There were small votive candles in tiny glass holders on the side of the steps leading up to the altar, and Kurt had lit every single one of them. There was also a large white pillar candle resting on the floor before him, and his hands were clasped, his head bent. Xavier knew Kurt knew he was there; but Xavier didn't interrupt him. Instead, he directed his hoverchair to the open space in the front row of seats left there for it, and crossed himself before bowing his own head in prayer.

He didn't pray with the ritualized, formal words. He just poured out what was in his heart, mentally, sending his thoughts up to the One who ruled the universe. He didn't refer to the presence as God in his mind, although he did use the word in general conversation. Privately, though, he never referred to the One as anything but the One. He had traveled too widely in his youth and now, seen too many things in too many different countries from too many peoples who referred to the One in their own way, to believe in using any one designation. He firmly believed, though he would never tell Kurt this, that whether you called the One Power Allah, Yahweh, God or Goddess, the prayers were all still going to the same Deity. He was convinced that there was no 'one true way' to address the One Power.

_Thank You for the gift of her life_, he said to Whoever might be listening._ Kurt would have blamed_ _himself for her death for the rest of his life had she died on the table. And thank You for Hank, and for Jean. And for Ororo, who can reach out to one who doesn't follow her religion and still offer comfort_. _I am_ _truly blessed to have such wonderful people around me, living here and constantly showing me every day_ _the kindness and goodness inherent in human nature. It is so easy to look at the world around me, at all the_ _horrors and ugly things happening in the world, and feel any kind of hope for the future I dream about. And_ _yet, when I see my students, my friends, everyone I have come to care about, living here in peace with each_ _other_…and here his lips quirked; peaceful was not the word he would have used to describe Scott after yesterday's bout of shouting…_I have hope that maybe someday all of humanity can live alongside each other. If not peacefully, human nature being what it is, at least tolerantly._

He stopped there, suddenly overwhelmed, as he usually was when in this room, by the feeling that Someone was listening. That Someone nodded tranquilly, and he felt a tiny ripple of amusement as that Presence leaned in close to him. When the feeling abruptly lessened, he found himself at peace. Grace was going to live; and she would be all right. He was certain of that now. He sat back and waited for Kurt to finish his prayers.

A smile twisted his lips. Suddenly, from here, the breaking of the antique table lamp in the formal receiving room wasn't as big a thing as it seemed yesterday. Bobby had sought refuge in the room from Rogue after he put black hair dye in her shampoo and hair whitening dye in her conditioner bottle. Rogue had gone tearing after him with a towel wrapped around her head; no one had seen her black-and-white-streaked hair until later at lunch. She had, however, found him by the trail of wet footprints he'd left on the carpets in his ice form; and had commenced beating her fists against his ice shell. Remy had arrived and tried to pull her off him; her struggles to escape Remy had caused a flailing foot to kick over a table and send the antique lamp crashing to the floor. Then Scott had come in, already irritable because of the hangover headache from drinking too much vodka-spiked punch. He'd promptly blown up at both Bobby and Rogue for the broken lamp and sent both of them scurrying for their rooms. Xavier had been tremendously dismayed with the loss; the lamp was an antique, and had been in his family for generations.

Now, though, he could see the humor. And he could get another lamp. Things could be replaced. The people he'd come to care about as his friends, his surrogate family, couldn't be replaced. The easy camaraderie among them, no matter how they occasionally drove each other crazy, couldn't be replaced either. He smiled, composed his thoughts, and watched as Kurt crossed himself and rose to his feet. Xavier smiled at him as he slipped into the seat beside him and said, "How do you feel?"

"Better," Kurt said. "Knowing that she will be all right helps." They sat in silence for a time, and then Xavier said very quietly, "Kurt…How did you manage to fall in love with her so quickly?"

Kurt shook his head vehemently in denial. "I am not in love, Charles. I…feel sorry for what she has endured, and I admire her will to live as well as her ability to survive. And I want to make her life easier, and bring back her belief in God. I want to show her that what the cult taught about God being a demanding, hateful, omnipotent, cold being isn't the real God." He fell silent.

_You might deny it, Kurt, but I see it in your heart, and in your eyes, and in Ororo's memories of how you reacted to Grace's death in the medlabs,_ Xavier thought as he looked at Kurt's head, bowed over the hands clasped in his lap. _But perhaps you don't yet realize it yourself. I will wait for you to realize it before I speak of it again._ "Perhaps, if you are finished your reflections here, you might consider going upstairs to change before you return to her bedside," he said softly. "Jean will not like having to scrub dried blood from your clothes. If it sits too long, it will become harder to remove."

Kurt looked down at his sleeve, which was indeed stained with blood that had seeped through the woolen blanket as he carried Grace to the mansion. "I believe that might be wise,' he said. 'Perhaps I will try to get some sleep as well."

Xavier sent a thought tendril down to the medlabs, and received Jean's weary but satisfied answer. "Jean says Grace will be all right," he said. "And that she is heavily sedated and will not awaken for at least twelve hours. Sleep sounds like a good idea for you. And myself as well," he said with a glance at his watch. 

Kurt stood. "I am tired. I shall say good night, then, Charles," And he nodded at the older man, genuflected as he reached the aisle, and then turned and left the chapel. Xavier sat for a little longer, looking at the burning votive candles, then sent his hoverchair forward and extinguished them before turning and leaving the chapel himself.


	7. Awake and Alive

  Chapter 7:

                "…blessed are ye that hunger now, for ye shall be filled. Blessed are ye that weep now, for ye shall laugh. Blessed are ye, when men shall hate you, and when they shall separate you from their company, and shall reproach you, and cast out your name as evil, for the Son of Man's sake. Rejoice ye in that day, and leap for joy: for behold, your reward is great in heaven: for in like manner did their fathers unto the prophets." Kurt turned the page over in his Bible, and was about to begin reading, softly, again, when he heard a soft voice say, "That's not what I heard."

                He dropped the book and looked down. Grace's eyes were open, and he felt an incredible surge of joy. She was awake! And alive!

                "You're awake!" He suppressed the urge to shout, and instead hurriedly put the book aside and leaned over her. 'How do you feel?"

                She frowned a little as she focused on her body. "Tired. Very tired, even though I feel like I've slept a whole day. I hurt a little here, too, although not as bad as I did before." She put a hand on her ribcage, under the covers, where Hank had stitched her back together. He'd had to do surgery to remove her shattered ribs, cutting into her torso to remove the pieces, and she had stitches along what used to be the end of her ribcage. "I'm so weak.. ." She laid her head back on the pillow, closing her eyes for a moment.

                Kurt stood. "Can you use something to drink?"

                "Please?" He left the small bedroom, going across the hall to the bathroom, and filled a cup with water. Coming back, he grabbed the straw Jean had left there earlier and dropped it in the cup, then held it in one hand while she raised her head to sip from the straw. She drank quite a bit from it, only stopping when the cup was almost empty.

                "Is that all? Do you need more?" She shook her head, and he put the cup down on the small bedside table and sat back down in his chair as he took one of her hands in his.

                'Where are we?" she asked after a moment, looking up at the ceiling above her and at the stand beside her bed that held her IV. She looked at it, then pointed at it and said, "What's that?"

                "It's an IV," he said. "Hank started you on it because you needed the nutrients in it."

                "Who's Hank?"

                "He's my friend. He's also a doctor. You're in my home. I don't know if you remember, but I found you in the shed in the middle of last week's blizzard, and I brought you here because you were coughing blood."

                "I'm in your home?" she looked at him reproachfully. "You promised you wouldn't tell anyone about me."

                "I had to," Kurt said firmly, unrepentantly. "You needed help, Grace. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if you died out there from cold while I sat in here safe. God would not be happy with me either."

                "Why? He doesn't care."

                Kurt leaned forward. "Don't say that, Grace. He does care. If He didn't he wouldn't have led me to you the day after Halloween, and he wouldn't have given you back to me when you died on Hank's operating table." Just thinking about it made him shiver in relief and thankfulness.

                "I died?" Grace frowned. "I think I remember…that light…yes, and He shut me out of it again." She said bitterly. "The elders were right. 'He rejecteth they who have invited the fallen One into their soul; let every man's hand be turned against them; and let them be cast into the pit of burning pain, for their invitation to the Wicked One'."

                Kurt frowned. "Where is that from? That is not in the Bible."

                Grace looked at him, startled. "That's what the elders told us the Bible said. We were never allowed to read it; women and children were not allowed to even look at it. As soon as we entered the church we were to bow our heads and look at the floor. Only the elders were allowed to open it and read it, and only men could look up when in the church."

                Kurt frowned. "Such is not the case here," he said. "I suspect that the real reason why they did not want you to look into it was because they didn't want you to realize just how much of their sermons they were making up. Did you read the Bible I gave you?"

                "No," Grace admitted, eyes downcast. "I…I couldn't. Every time I tried to pick it up I kept remembering what happened the time I tried to read the Bible. I sneaked into the church and got caught."

                "What happened?" Kurt asked.

                "I was beaten. Forty lashes for desecration of a holy relic. The only way you'd be permitted to touch the Bible was if you were clean, and they had a test for that. They made me drink the holy water, and it made me terribly sick. Then they took me out, tied me up, and beat me."

                Kurt winced. "The Bible is free to all who wish to read it," he said, taking it off the table and holding it out to her. "Here. Take it."

                Grace reached out, hesitantly, and almost touched it, then she drew her hand back hastily. "I…I can't. I'm sorry, Kurt."

                Kurt sighed. 'Then I will read it to you. Relax, and just listen." He turned back to the first Book, the Book of Genesis, and started to read. Grace listened to him read, occasionally stopping and asking him questions, which he answered as best as he could, and they sat there for a long while comparing what he read with what she had been taught.

                Jean was walking past the room that Grace was in when she heard Kurt laugh and say something. She opened the door quietly, and was surprised to see Grace lying in bed, talking to Kurt and smiling happily. She looked happier, and sounded happier, and Jean felt a pang as she looked at the girl's scarred face. Grace would be a pretty girl if those scars didn't disfigure her face.

                She closed the door softly, retraced her steps to the kitchen, and headed for the refrigerator as Charles and Hank, sitting at the table, looked up. "Grace's awake," she told Hank. "She and Kurt are upstairs right now talking about religious theology." Hank started to rise from his chair, but she waved him down. "I wanted to fix a couple of plates for them. If you'll wait until I'm done, you can help me carry the plates up."

                Charles followed them back up to Grace's room. She froze as soon as she saw Jean, Charles, and Hank come in, and went silent. Kurt, however, refused to allow her to withdraw like that. "Grace, this is Charles Xavier. He owns the mansion. And this is my friend Hank, the doctor who saved your life." Hank nodded amiably at her as he checked her IV, checked the vital signs monitor, and then pressed a stethoscope to her chest. Finally looking satisfied, he stepped back. "How are you feeling, my dear?" he asked.

                Grace nodded at him shyly. "Better," she whispered. "Thank you."

                "Does anything hurt? If you are, I can give you more pain medications."

                "No, I'm fine. Thank you." And then she looked at Xavier, and she said in a voice barely above a whisper, "Please…you won't tell anyone I'm here, are you?"

                "No, of course not." Charles smiled. "You have no reason to fear, however. You are safe. Grace, it's been four or five months since …you left, hasn't it? The compound at which you were being held burned due to an accident two months ago. A lot of people died; very few survived."

                Grace's face went white. "Did they…did they say who died?"

                "I shall print out the casualty list later for you to look at if you wish," Xavier said. "Only ten people survived. The Federal government is charging five of them with a variety of crimes and they are currently waiting for their day in court." He watched her carefully. "The other five are going to testify to the fact that the five who are being held responsible were called the elders of the cult. Joseph Borden, David Farrier, Noah King, Mark Howard, and Joshua Givens. Do any of those names mean anything to you?"

                "Father Borden was the one who performed my exorcism," she whispered, her eyes haunted. "He was the spokesperson. He told everyone that God spoke to him and told him what to do. He told them to beat me; he told them to dig the Pit and put me in it." She swallowed. "He…stood over me and whipped my eyes…" She couldn't go on.

                Jean, overwhelmed with pity for the girl, patted her shoulder kindly, then leaned over the bed and hugged Grace. "They are in jail, and they won't hurt you," she said. "They are not even looking for you anymore. You can relax. They won't find you here."

                Grace smiled at Jean, but she never took her eyes off Charles. "Will I have to…testify?" she said. "Will they ask me to speak against Father Borden? Because God will surely strike me if I do, to speak against one of His Chosen, one of His ordained."

                Xavier clasped his hands. "Grace, this may come as a surprise to you, but none of the people awaiting trial are ordained members of the priesthood. None of them even went to a seminary, which is where priests go for training. None of them has seen the inside of a convent. They are as ordinary as you or I. Kurt, here, has more right to the name 'priest' than they do."

                "Really? You're a priest?"

                Kurt decided not to mention that he was not actually a priest. His affiliation with the now defunct 'Church of Humanity' was still a sore spot with him. And if Grace believed he was a priest, maybe she would accept that what he was telling her was God's truth and come to believe it herself. So, "Yes," he said. "I am a priest."

                "That's how you know all that stuff," she whispered. "And here I am…lying down…I should get up, kneel…" She started to push herself up off the bed to kneel in front of Kurt, but Hank held her down even as Kurt sprang up in dismay.

                "Do not kneel to me, Grace! Please! I am not God, that you should kneel to me! You should kneel to no one but God! I am but a messenger!" Finally, exhausted and gasping, she lay back quietly.

                "Please, Grace," Kurt said, taking her hand gently. "I do not ask that anyone kneel before me, and grovel at my feet. God Himself says no man should bow head to another, that He alone is God. Whatever they told you at the compound, it is _wrong_!" He cupped her chin in his hands. "Please, Grace. Did you hear what Charles said? They were twisted, misguided, fanatical mutant-haters who only wanted to control you, to hurt you because you were different. This is not what God teaches. Give me a chance to show you what God really is."

                He waited. And waited. And then, when he was finally about to give up, a single hot tear fell down her cheek and she nodded once, slightly, gently.

                When Charles uploaded the casualty list from the compound fire and had Grace look at them, she discovered everyone was dead.  The five survivors were being sequestered; she had no way to contact them even if she wanted to. Which she didn't.

                "But don't you want to know how your parents are?" Kurt asked as she stared at the sheet of names. "Or how they died?"

                Grace gave a small, bitter laugh. "I never knew who my parents were," she said bitterly. "We children were housed in a large dormitory. I had my own bed in that dormitory ever since I could remember. They'd bring children in after they were about one year old, and we'd have to take care of them. We older ones changed their diapers, fed them, sang the songs the priests said were okay to them, and they'd stay in our dormitory for a whole year; they weren't allowed out. By the end of that year, they'd usually forget who their parents were, and just called us 'sister' or 'brother'.  Some of them would call for Mama when they got out, but the elders would punish the baby severely if we didn't stop it, and so we'd hush the two-year-olds if they called for Mama. Because we'd rather spank them ourselves than have one of the Elders beat them. They were too little; and they were so confused, and scared…" She trailed off. "I never knew who my parents were."

                Kurt sighed. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

                "I don't know," Grace said. "I think I'd be really mad at them if I knew. I mean…how could they just give me up to Father Borden like that? And if they saw me later, wouldn't they…shouldn't they…have said something, done something, to stop it when Father Borden started torturing me?" She fell silent. "If it were my child I would have tried to do something, anything, to let that child know I was still alive and still cared about them. I would have tried to sneak the child out of the camp. Anything. I don't know why they didn't." She looked up at the ceiling, tears in her eyes. "Why didn't they?"

                Kurt sighed. "I don't know, Grace," he said. "I think you should maybe talk to God on that one."

                She turned to him. "Pray? I should pray?"

                "I think you should," Kurt said gently. "Maybe God can give you some of the answers you need in prayer."

                She looked undecided for a moment, then shook her head. "I can't," she moaned. "God…God doesn't love me, and I don't care about him. Leave me alone."

                Kurt looked at her sorrowfully. "All right. I'll let you come around to it in your own time," he said. "But…tomorrow is Sunday, and I'll be conducting the Sunday services in the chapel downstairs. Even if you don't want to participate, you can come and watch." He hoped she would.

                "I'll think about it," she said.


	8. Finding Faith

Chapter 8: Finding Faith

                Grace carefully reached over and grasped the bedside table, pushing herself upright. The mansion had been quiet for a long time, and Kurt hadn't come to see her. She wanted to talk to him.

                Maybe he was downstairs, conducting the service that he had told her about. Would it really hurt to go to this one? Kurt was nice, he'd already said she could come, and maybe she should get to see what his God said. Father Borden's God was cruel; she didn't like his God. Maybe Kurt's would be better.

                She stood carefully, surprised at the way her legs shook. She took a few tentative steps around her room, stretching the muscles in her legs until she felt steady on them, then went and opened the door.

                She emerged into a long hallway that was completely empty and silent. Her room seemed to be close to the end of it; the long part of the hall stretched out toward the right. She took a look at the hallway, and back at the bed in the room. Maybe she should stay here? She paused, undecided, but the sound and feel of her stomach growling gave her an answer. If anything, she could find Kurt and ask him if she might be able to get something to eat.

                She walked down the hallway to the left of her room, looking for a stairway or something that would show her how to get down. She'd already seen that she was on the second floor from her room window; now how did she get down?

                She reached the end of the hallway without finding a stairway, and turned around and went back. This time, she continued going past her door, and down toward the long end. She was probably about at the middle of the hall when she came on a door marked 'elevator', and one marked 'stairs'.

                She figured that the elevator must be for Charles, who had that wheelchair. Unsure if she was allowed to take it as well, she decided to play it safe and opened the door marked stairs. There was a flight going up, and one going down. She chose the down set.

                She emerged from the stair and closed the door. She was in the middle of the intersection of two hallways. One went from left to right. One went straight out in front of her. The one in front of her was shorter. She was standing, unsure of where she was, when a door opened at the end of the hall and the man in the wheelchair came out. Only he wasn't in a wheelchair, he was in something that hovered over the floor. She had never seen anything like it…but then, this house was full of things she'd never seen before, things they hadn't had at the compound that she'd only read about, like elevators and IV's and radios that played music from little silver discs.

                **Come on over, Grace. Don't be shy. This is your home as well, for as long as you wish to remain here. You may go wherever you like.** After a moment she realized that she wasn't hearing the voice in her ears, she was hearing it in her head. She haltingly took the walk over to where Charles was.

                "You can talk in my head too?" she asked shyly. She was still shy around anyone other than Kurt.

                "Yes," Charles answered her vocally. "I'm what is called a telepath."

                "There was an older girl at the compound who could do that too," Grace said. "But she told all of us not to tell anyone, or she'd get into trouble. When we'd start getting older, some us found we could do funny things, like talk in each others' heads, or move things just by thinking about them, and stuff like that. We tried to keep it a secret from the Elders. I was the only one that got caught, and that was because my eyes changed color."

                "The children of your compound were pretty lucky." Charles said softly, thoughtfully. "It sounds like most of their mutations were psychic, and not physical. Yours just happened to be both. I'm truly sorry." He turned and held the door of the room open for her to walk in.

                She walked in the room a few steps, and stopped. There were two rows of chairs set up facing the front of the room, and a wide aisle vivisected the rows. At the front of the room, over a raised platform, hung a large crucifix with the image of Christ on it. The small white table under it served as the altar; it was covered with a white cloth. There were two small steps between the platform and the floor.

                She looked at it, wondering. "What's this?" she asked Charles, spreading her arms wide.

                "This is our chapel," Charles said. "We come here to pray to God. It's a sanctuary for us to meditate, calm our thoughts, and talk to the Lord. Kurt usually holds Sunday services here."

                'Where is he?" Grace turned to Charles.

                Xavier sighed. "Grace, I don't know if you've ever heard of us before. We're the X-Men." When that produced nothing but a blank look, Xavier indicated a chair. 'Sit down." He gathered his thoughts. "There are people out there, both mutant and human, who believe that we can't live together peacefully, that one must become dominant over the other. I don't believe that. I believe that peace is possible, that harmonious coexistence is possible.

                "But not everyone believes in peace. Not everyone believes that it is possible, or even desirable, for both our peoples to live peacefully. An old friend of mine spearheads the 'mutant superiority' movement, and many follow his precepts. They strive constantly to start a war between mutants and humans, a war that I believe would end with the destruction of everyone on this planet. So I went out and found a group of mutants who believe in the dream of peace between both, and called them my X-Men, and based them here. When enemies threaten to destabilize the peace currently in place, my X-Men go out to fight them."

                She stared at him. "But humans don't like mutants. Why should we care whether they live in peace with us?"

                'Because it's wrong," Xavier said patiently. "Sometimes I wonder if this is right, whether I have the right to ask my X-Men to risk their lives for a world that doesn't really want or care about us. And I always get back to the same answer; because it's right. It's not right for mutants to claim superiority over humans; it's also not right for mutants to claim superiority over humans. And my X-Men believe this. Kurt believes it. And that's why they went out this morning to fight the giant mechanical robots, called Sentinels, that the humans built to hunt down, track, and kill mutants. Because they were pursuing an innocent this morning, a mother and a child, and that is not right."

                "That's where Kurt is? That's why I haven't seen him?" Xavier nodded. Grace thought for a moment. "Will the robots hurt them?"

                "They train for this constantly," Charles said, "And they look out for each other as well as the innocents. The Sentinels will try, but I doubt very much that they will be able to win out over my X-Men." He sobered. "But they are not invulnerable. That's why, when they go out like this, I come here to pray for their safe return. I have lost too many of them over the years; I never want to lose another of 'my children' to another enemy. But they believe in the dream too, they believe that subjugating another human being is wrong, and they are willing to risk their lives to keep that from happening. So I wait, and hope, and pray."

                Grace sat there for a moment, thinking about it. Then she said, "Did Kurt bring me here to make me join your X-Men?"

                Xavier shook his head. "We will never 'make' you join, Grace. It is your decision. You must make it for yourself. But Kurt brought you here because your life was in danger, and you needed help. My doors are always open to any mutant who needs help." He looked at her. "And because Kurt cares for you, deeply. He was frantic when Jean and Hank told him you were dead. He refused to leave, he refused to let go. He knelt beside your bed and prayed God to spare your life. And He did. I think God still has something He wants you to do, some plan for your life, some destiny for you to fulfill that you have not yet discovered. If it had been time for you to go, He would not have returned you to your body. I think you should think about that, think about what may be left unfinished that you, and only you, can do."

                Grace whispered, 'I know. Kurt told me. But I am afraid."

                Xavier looked up at the crucifix, at the figure of Christ on the cross. "Grace, do you see that figure on the cross? Look up. You need not bow your head in here. Look at Him." Grace slowly lifted her eyes. "This is Jesus Christ, God's son. He died on that cross for the sins of man. Don't you think He was afraid to submit to the Romans, afraid to be placed on that cross? Yet God commanded him to, this was what He had been born to do, this was His destiny. He did it because He had to fulfill prophecy, and in so doing save mankind. It wasn't easy. You can read in the Bible what He went through before He died. If Jesus could do it, shouldn't you?"

                Grace looked at the figure. "Yes," she breathed. She looked at Charles. "Kurt wants me to go to the courthouse, to testify against Father Borden and the other Elders. Some of what he did to me, what they did to me, only I know about because they did it out of sight of everyone. Only I can tell everyone what really happened, and force them to face justice."

                Xavier smiled gently. 'I understand your fear. You do not wish to see them again; you don't want them to know you survived. But if the evidence against them by these other survivors is insufficient, Father Borden might become free to do this again to another helpless child, another set of misguided followers. And you don't want that."

                "No." Grace sat quietly. "No, I don't want that."

                There was a sudden high-pitched whine from outside the window, and Xavier looked up. 'They're back." As if on cue, a voice filled his head. **Charles?**

                **I'm here, Jean.**

                Jean sounded exhausted. **We've got some injuries. Remy was hurt; Scott's got a burn on his arm. Kurt…** she paused wearily. **Kurt was knocked unconscious when a wall the Sentinel knocked over fell on him. He hasn't woken up, and there's an awful lot of blood. I'm too tired, I can't reach him. Can you come and try?**

                **I'll be right there.** Xavier broke the telepathic link and turned to Grace. "Kurt was injured. He's still unconscious. Will you accompany me…"

                "Kurt…" the blood drained from Grace's face, and without another word she hurried out the door, Xavier close behind.

                The scene inside the medlabs was chaotic. Jean was bandaging Scott's arm as Scott lay exhausted on a biobed. Beside him, Remy was trying to suppress his cries of pain as Ororo and Rogue cut away his bloody pant leg to clean and bandage the gash on his thigh.

                Hank was bent over Kurt, who lay still on the bed. He was almost covered in blood, and his eyes were closed. He wasn't moving. There were already tubes attached to various parts of him; Hank was trying to wipe his forehead clear of blood so he could examine the bleeding gash. Grace gasped at the sight of all that blood.

                Hank saw her. Not skipping a beat, he shoved a clean rag in her hand and said, "Here. Try to clean him up while I look at this." He turned to Xavier. "Possible skull fracture, concussion certainly. He's slipping into a coma; Jean couldn't reach him. See if you can." Xavier said nothing, just closed his eyes and reached out to touch Kurt's hand.

                Grace kept trying to clean off the blood. There was so much of it! She kept one eye on Hank, watching as the big, furry blue doctor bustled about, attaching even more machines to Kurt's skin and cutting away the rest of Kurt's clothing with special scissors. Grace helped him pull off the shreds of his clothing and cover him with a blanket. "His skin is cold," she whispered. "That's not good, is it?"

                "He's going into shock. Help me cover him." Grace pulled the blanket up over Kurt's body and continued to try and clean him up.

                Xavier sat back in his chair. "I can't reach him, Hank." He looked drained and worried.

                Hank faltered.

                Grace looked wildly at Xavier, and at Hank. "No! Please, you can't stop, you have to try, you can't just leave him, forget about him…please!" Xavier bit his lip. He hadn't seen anything but a soft, dark fog in Kurt's mind, growing darker by the minute. Head wounds were tricky things; this could be fatal. His heart cried out in anguish at the thought of losing another of his X-Men.

                Grace leaned over the bed. 'Kurt, please…it's Grace. You can't leave me, please…Come back! I need you! Kurt, please!" But his eyes didn't open. Grace bent over his body, her hands grasping his, and cried desperately, "Please! Oh, God, please give him back! I can't do this without him! Please!" She began to sob, her forehead on the blanket covering his chest. 'Please, oh God, please give him back, I need him, I can't go testify without him, I'm not strong enough…God, please, I'll do anything, just give him back…"

                She couldn't see it, but Xavier felt Kurt's mind become awash with bright light. When it faded, the flicker of light that was Kurt's soul was again firmly inside. He raised one hand, limply, and laid it on Grace's brown hair. "Grace…"

                "Kurt?…" She looked up, eyes streaming with tears, and saw his eyes open and he was smiling at her. "Kurt! Oh, God, you're back, you're safe, oh, thank God for giving you back…" and she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him frantically as he tried to clumsily hug her too. Hank bustled around, muttering to himself and checking monitors, then he took Grace's arm gently and said, "Please, my dear. He needs to rest. You can come and see him later." Grace stepped back from the table, her eyes never leaving Kurt's, and then she turned and left the room.

                After the fuss had died down, and Xavier saw Scott and Remy resting in their rooms, he went looking for Grace. She wasn't in her room. He didn't have to psychically sweep the mansion to know where she was; she was in the chapel.

                When he entered, he saw Rogue kneeling at the altar beside Grace. She had lit a candle in thankfulness that they had made it and Remy was alive (wounded but alive) and Grace was similarly relieved. Rogue had to explain what the candles were for as she lit them, and then she knelt before the altar and began to pray. The words were all new to Grace, but as she knelt beside Rogue and repeated the words, a feeling of peace crept over her and she knew Kurt would be all right. The Presence that touched her mind reassured her as it calmed her, and she suddenly felt better than she ever had in her life.

                Xavier saw the change on her face and smiled. She had found her faith again. Silently thanking God for the miracle, he turned his hoverchair and left the chapel without disturbing the two women at the altar.


	9. Miracles

Chapter 9: Miracles

                Kurt and Grace walked into the courtroom amid the throng of the other spectators, and found seats close to the back of the room. The press were at the very back, taping the entire trial for the local news and court channels on cable. She barely had time to settle and compose herself before the bailiffs walked in leading the five prisoners between them.

                Grace's fingers tightened around the small Bible she carried for comfort and around the rosary Kurt had given her. Kurt saw the movement and reached over to grip her hand comfortingly. She squeezed his hand back, and calmed down, sitting straighter. They wouldn't recognize her in the sea of faces at the back of the courtroom, anyway. She had the hood of a sweatshirt pulled over her head; she didn't want them to know she was here until she wanted them to know she was there.

                The courtroom rose for the judge to enter, and then sat back down. The day's proceedings went on without a hitch, until Joseph Borden went up on the stand to deliver testimony.

                "Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?" the bailiff intoned. Joseph Borden raised his hand and swore himself to truth.

                And proceeded to lie completely and thoroughly. He told the court and the cameras that he had never tried to pass himself off as a priest, that he had been asked to join the council of elders because the Council was actually a group of secular leaders. He had never claimed to be a spiritual leader. No, he'd never told anyone he was God, that he committed atrocities in the name of God, and the people who had survived the fire were sadly mistaken, having been led astray by the police who had told them what to say. He told them that the compound had been a group of peaceful, like-minded people who loved God and nature, and that the fire was an accident, an act of God, and he and the ten others had been spared the flames because they still believed in God and did not follow the Satan-worshipping ways that the rest of the cult had begun to follow in their last days. And Grace couldn't take it anymore.

                "You lie!" she cried suddenly, starting out of her seat. "You lie! How can you stand there and tell lies when you are sworn to the truth!?"

                Joseph Borden shook his head, "I am not lying! They began to follow Satan during their last few days, and I an the others were spared…" And he stopped speaking as Grace threw the hood back and pushed her hair back from her face.

                "Do you remember me?" she demanded, looking at him squarely. "Do you remember me? I'm Grace. It's been two years since I last saw you, Father Borden. The last time I saw you, you were standing over me as I lay staked to the ground and you were whipping my eyes!"

                The cameras turned to focus on her, and Kurt sat back down as Grace walked out into the aisle between the seats and approached the barrier that separated the floor from the seats. "You have always passed yourself off as a priest, Father Borden. You told us, all of us, that you spoke to God personally, that he told you what to do and how to do it. When I began to show signs of my mutation, you singled me out. You told everyone that I had been possessed by the devil, and that God had told you I had to be cleansed. You had me beaten and starved, and thrown into a pit for weeks until my body regressed its mutation because I had to survive! Then you had me crucified until I nearly died! You have never tried to humble yourself; you have never truly followed God! You have always followed your own ambition, you wanted total control of our community, and you wanted to be our god!

                "You took us children away from their parents, and forced us to forget them. If we cried for our mothers, you beat us. Do you remember Enoch, Father Borden? He was four when you brought him to the children's dorm, and he refused to forget his mother. He cried 'Mama' for three weeks. You took him out of the dorm and tied him down to the punishment cross…a four year old!…and you beat him until he was black and blue from his neck to his heels. And he finally stopped crying for Mama and just screamed. We had to watch that. And you took him down, and took him away, and we never saw him again. Did you tell anyone what you did with Enoch? Because he told me what you did with him. You murdered him. You took him outside and strangled him, killed him, and buried him in an unmarked grave in the backyard. He might have been dead, but his ghost cried out to me from his grave! Did you ever tell his parents what happened to him?"

                Joseph Borden was pale. "I never did any of those things. Look at her, she must be crazy. Who ever heard of someone who can hear dead people?" but he was pale around his lips, and his hands were clenched into fists.

                "I am lying? I am crazy?" Grace unzipped the hooded sweatshirt and slid it off her shoulders. She had worn only a bra underneath her shirt, and the scars on her shoulders, back, arms, and chest were visible, as was the seamed white scar where her shattered ribs had been removed. She shrugged off the rest of the shirt and held her arms up, and everyone saw the deep indentations in the flesh over her wrists. "See that? That is where you drove the first wooden spike into my wrist. And this is where you put the other one in. See these scars? These are from the whipping you gave me, with a whip made of rusted wire, before you nailed me to that cross by my hands and feet. See this white scar on my collarbone? That's from the rocks and stones the boys threw at me, the rocks you gathered and placed in their hands, the stones you told them to throw while I gasped and screamed in pain on the cross. Shall I show you the scars on my feet from the nailed board you put in the bottom of the Pit and made me stand on for a week? I am not crazy, Father Borden…_Mr_. Borden…you are."

Grace stalked past the barrier, the entire courtroom too shocked to do anything to stop her, and she stood squarely in front of him in the witness box. "I don't remember my parents. Who were my parents, Mr. Borden? Did you tell them that the beatings, the crucifixion, the Pit, were all necessary to drive Satan out of me? Did they agree? Or did they fight you, struggle against you, and did you kill them because they didn't see things your way?" She paused, leaned in closer to him. Or did you kidnap me from my rightful parents, like you kidnapped Katherine Mason and renamed her Keturah so her parents wouldn't find her? Do they know what happened to her? Or are they still wondering what happened to their pretty little golden-haired girl? Still wondering if her body lies somewhere out in the wilderness where she wandered off the trail?"

Grace stood back. "If you think I am lying, Judge, I will give you the location of the missing child Katherine Mason. Her parents were hiking with her when the little girl wandered onto one of the trails we used to get through the forest. Mr. Borden found out from her that she didn't go to church. He called her parents pagans, and said she would not be allowed to go back to them because a pretty little girl like her should be raised in the light of Christ. He brought her to the compound, cut her hair, kept her awake for four days straight until he had her brainwashed to believe her name was Keturah, and forced her to join us. She was unable to adapt to the life we led, she couldn't stop crying for her mother and father, so she was taken away and killed. So were three other children. Enoch was originally Edward Milligan; the child we knew as Issac was originally Adrian Howard; the girl we called Zillah was originally Charlotte Carroll. All the bodies are buried in the back of the compound; I can show you exactly where they are." She fell silent, tears falling down her face.

Mr. Borden rose out of his seat. "Damn you to Hell, you little mutie freak! How dare you betray me like this! God will strike you down himself for this!"

"God showed me the true light, through one of His messengers," Grace said, looking at him through her tears. "The light you gave us was not a light, but the way into darkness and sin. God does not speak to you; He would never have told you that crucifying a sixteen-year-old girl was right. He would never have told you to kill a four-year-old boy, a six-year-old girl, or a three-year old boy. God would never have told you to break up families, would never have told you to torture and kill others. And God would never have told you to rape me when I was fifteen in the so-called Testing Room."

Grace's eyes widened as the pieces clicked together in her head. "That's what the testing room was for, wasn't it? You took pubescent girls there to test their obedience to you by asking them to have sex with you. Most of us were too scared to refuse; but I did. And so you had me punished, claiming I was possessed. You didn't punish me because I was possessed, you punished me because I refused to allow you to use my body."

Joseph Borden looked at the Judge. 'Your Honor, this is crazy, I've never raped her…" and his words trailed off as he saw the judge's face.

"Counsel, approach," the judge beckoned to Borden's lawyer and the states' attorney. "I want this witness's claims investigated. If they prove to be true, which I believe will happen, I want the statement of charges to include murder, rape, kidnapping, and conspiracy to the charges." He looked at Joseph. "And add perjury to those charges. We'll reconvene when the charges have been refilled." He raised his Gavel. "Court will break while these claims are being investigated. In the meantime, Mr. Borden, you and your friends down there are remanded to Riker's Island without bail until we reconvene."

"NO! I'm not going back there!" Joseph Borden lunged out of the witness box. Grace, taken by surprise, had barely started to move when he grabbed her. He hissed, "I'm not going without taking her with me!" and then he burst into flame.

Kurt tried to scramble out of his seat, but time seemed to be moving oh so slowly. The courtroom was filled with the sound of panicked screaming and stampeding feet, and he tried to wade through the tangle of people running for the doors. Grace!" he was crying. "Grace, get away from him! He had never expected that Joseph Borden would be a pyrokinetic mutant. The man would be immune to his own flame, of course, but Grace…

Grace was screaming. And suddenly a wind whipped up inside the courtroom, and for a moment Kurt thought he heard a cacophony of voices in that wind, but he wasn't sure. The wind seemed to converge on that flaming mass in the center of the courtroom, and as suddenly as the flames had sprung up, they died out. Two figures, tangled in each other, fell limply to the floor. Kurt fell to his knees beside Grace. "Oh, God," he whispered. Grace had been wearing nothing but a bra; her skin had been unprotected from the fire that scorched it and left blackened, burned flesh behind. She smelled terrible, and she was unconscious. He bowed over her, sobbing for her. She was dead, she had to be dead. She couldn't have survived the burning of all her skin, and there was so much blood…

"Kurt?" Grace felt his weight on her, but curiously enough, she couldn't feel him against her skin. There seemed to be a covering of something between her and him. "Kurt, I can't breathe with you on me like that."

Kurt stared at her his eyes wide. "Grace? _Mein Gott_…stay still, they're calling an ambulance…"

"For what? I feel fine." Grace pushed him aside and tried to sit up. There seemed to be a thick black coating on her skin, caked to her skin, and she made a face as she tried to brush it off. "What is all this stuff…" She brushed at it. And then both she and Kurt stared as it flaked off and left…untouched white skin.

Kurt stared, and then almost mechanically he began to brush the rest of the flaky black stuff off. Underneath it Grace's skin was whole, untouched; truly untouched. Even her scars were gone. She was perfect. He took her face in his hands, brushed at her darkened face, and as the black burned skin came free of her face he realized her facial scars were gone too.

"Grace…Grace, your scars…they're gone, they're gone…God took them away…" and then, as He grabbed her to him in a hug, he saw Joseph Borden on the floor just past Grace. And he nudged her. "Look." She looked, and gasped.

His own fire hadn't hurt him; but by some incredible miracle all of Grace's scars had descended on him. His face was seamed with the scars that had disfigured her when she first walked into the courtroom; his shirt had burned away in the fire and his back, chest, shoulders, arms, and hands bore the same marks he had inflicted on her. Except one. His arms didn't show the indentations from her crucifixion, those had disappeared completely. "It's a miracle," Kurt whispered.

"Yes it is," Grace whispered, and they both fell silent for a moment, each thanking God for the miracle Then Kurt reached for the hooded sweatshirt, handed it to her suddenly extremely aware of her uncovered breasts, and said, "Let's go home."


	10. Starting Over

Chapter 10: Starting Over

                "Incredible," Hank said when Kurt had told him what happened in the courtroom. He inspected every inch of Grace's skin, starting at her shoulders and working downward to her feet. Every scar on her body was gone. It was as though she had been reborn, whole and new again. Some of the flaky, scorched remnants of her old skin remained stuck in her hair, and Hank took a sample of that too, as well as another vial of blood.

                The authorities came later that afternoon, and Kurt wanted to go with her on the helicopter ride upstate to recover the bodies, but she firmly insisted that she had to do it herself. He watched as the chopper took off.

                "She has to do this herself, Kurt," Ororo said gently to him as he stood silently watching the speck in the sky fade off toward the north. "It is closure for her, as well as a sign that she is becoming more independent. Think of it. She no longer has to hide, she is free to do what she likes, and with the cult disbanded, the whole world is open for her now. She is free. If you care for her, you must let her exercise that freedom."

                "I know," Kurt said quietly. "But it is not easy."

                "Life is never easy, Kurt."

                They were watching TV over dinner later when the news came on, and everyone was riveted by the sight of diggers and excavators digging holes in the ground and pulling out skeletons and bodies. Grace was there, too, pale-faced and shaking, but her hands were firm as she pointed out new spots for the workers to dig. Kurt swallowed hard as she paused beside one small body and touched it gently. The body had to be one of the children she had spoken of in the courtroom; it was far too small to be an adult.

                The police dropped her off in front of the mansion late that evening, and Kurt opened the door to her knock. She looked exhausted and tired, and her eyes were red from crying. He cut the others' questions off with a shake of his head and took her back to her room to rest, then went to the kitchen to make her some soup. She ate and went to sleep immediately.

                She woke the next morning, feeling a little better, and Kurt greeted her at her door with breakfast. Thanking him silently for bringing her breakfast to her, since she really didn't feel like eating downstairs with everyone else. They said their prayers and ate.

                "I can't stay here, Kurt," was the first word she spoke when breakfast was done.

                'Grace…" he began, but she gently placed a finger in his lips.

                "Hear me out. I don't belong here, Kurt. You do. I don't think I could do what you do all the time. I think God is calling me somewhere else, somewhere different. I don't know where."

                "Maybe you need direction," he said quietly. "Will you come with me? I'm going to the Saint Francis church today, to help give out food in the homeless shelter. Perhaps you can find some purpose there."

                Father O'Malley was all too eager to have extra hands to help dole out the food, and Grace seemed to be happy, standing by the soup and ladling it out into bowls. She had a smile for everyone, a gentle touch for the children, and when the orphans in the church's orphanage started coming in, she welcomed them all and quickly became a favored playmate for the small children.

                Kurt was standing there, watching her, when Father O'Malley came up. "She is an interesting girl, Kurt," the old priest said. "I don't believe I've ever seen her before, but she looks familiar somehow."

                Kurt decided not to tell the priest about Grace's past. Grace herself seemed reluctant to discuss it. "Just another lost soul, looking for light," he said instead.

The priest regarded him kindly. "Aren't we all?" He turned to look at Grace again, who was sitting down with one of the smallest girls in her lap and showing an older child how to braid the little girl's long brown hair. "The children love her," he said quietly. "And we do have a need for caretakers for the children. Do you think, perhaps, that she might be willing to donate some of her time to the orphanage?"

Kurt smiled at the priest. "She is currently living with me, but has expressed a wish to expand her horizons," he told the priest. "Perhaps she might live here?"

"Live here?" The priest said. "That is a possibility." Kurt caught grace's eye, and she slid a child off her lap and sent them off to play as she came up to them. She knelt briefly before Father O'Malley; old habits seemed to die hard, but the priest didn't seem to mind. He laid a hand on Grace's head gently then told her to rise. She stood.

"Kurt has told me of your search for direction," the old priest said gently. "And I have a need for someone who can care for the orphanage's children. Would you be willing to move in here?"

Her smile was answer enough.

It didn't take long to move what few things she had from her room at the mansion. Everything she had, actually came down to one cardboard box; a few changes of clothes, the Bible Kurt had given her, her rosary, and a small, special gift Kurt had been saving to give to her for a special occasion. This seemed a good time to give it to her.

She sat on the bed with the cardboard box on her lap, and took the small, plain white box Kurt handed her with a curious look. "For me?"

He nodded. She opened it carefully.

Inside the box, on a bed of cotton, lay a narrow, plain, strong gold chain with a gold cross on it. The cross had a small tiger-eye jewel in the center of it, and Grace gasped as she lifted it out of the box. "Kurt! Oh, Kurt, it's beautiful…!"

"For you," he said gently, reaching across the seat to fasten the clasp around her slim throat. "A gift."

"But I have nothing for you," she said, instantly distressed. Kurt cupped her chin in his hand.

"Meeting you, knowing you, has been gift enough," he said quietly. "That day when I first saw you in the graveyard, I had been searching for direction myself. I was asking God what His purpose was for me, wishing there was something that I needed to do, had to do, that only I could do, and he sent me you. He answered my prayers with you. You are the greatest gift I could ever receive."

"Ahem," Hank said discreetly from the door. Kurt and Grace broke off their close contact and Kurt waved the big blue doctor into the room. "I have the results of those tests," Hank said. "As near as I can tell, Grace, you have a secondary mutation, one that we generally refer to as 'husking'. One of our younger members at the Massachusetts Academy has this particular ability, if I recall correctly. When your skin became too burned and damaged, you shed it, or 'husked' it, much as certain reptiles can shed their skins. The scar transference, however…" he took his glasses off and raised his eyes to the ceiling. I would call it a 'unexplained occurrence'. You however, may have a different explanation for it." He replaced his glasses and nodded to Kurt and Grace before leaving the room.

Grace looked at the cross around her neck, then brushed her fingers over the bible in the box in her lap. "Kurt?"

Kurt looked at her. "Yes?"

"Thank you," she said softly. "Thank you for everything." She leaned forward across the space between them, and brushed her lips against his gently.

Kurt couldn't think of a single thing to say.

                That's it for this one.

                I got the idea for this one from listening to a song from Sara Evans. I don't know what the song is called, but this is how it goes:

_When we're torn apart_

_Shattered and scarred_

_Love has the grace to save us_

_We're just two tarnished hearts_

_But in each other's arms_

_We become saints and angels…_

                It stuck, and became the title for this story. It's odd how a line from a song can spark new ideas in my head…

                Anyway, thanks to all who reviewed, and I appreciate you all hanging on for the ride!

And what a ride it's been!

I'm going to go on from here, finish up 'I'll Be There', and after that I don't know; maybe I'll post the Ororo/OC fic that's been sitting on my computer for a while (not a romance), or if I get enough favorable comments about the request-only, Logan/Jubilee AU story I'm currently on the fifteenth chapter of (those who have visited www.wolverineandjubilee.com and looked at the recent posts in the Comment Room know what I'm talking about) I'll post that. Oh, and if you don't visit that page but would still like to read it, drop me a line and let me know. Be warned; it's very A/U, PG-13, and there are no mutant powers involved!

Anyway, thanks for reading, and especially for reviewing! I hope I haven't offended anyone with talk of God and religions. I'm a Wiccan myself, but I did go to catholic schools when I was younger, so I drew the info from that experience.  

Jaenelle Angelline


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